Commonwealth by Ann Patchett: A review

I felt some uneasiness at the beginning of this book. I wasn't particularly liking the characters I was meeting and I wasn't sure just where Ann Patchett was taking me with them. Of course, I shouldn't have worried.

Patchett starts with characters that are perhaps not so lovable, and she reveals them to us incrementally, bit by bit, layer by layer, and as more layers of their humanity are laid bare, a remarkable thing happens. We find that the characters are relatable and even likable. We know these people. They are our neighbors, our family, our friends, ourselves. We end up caring deeply about them and hoping against hope that things will turn out well for them on their complicated journeys through life.

The story begins with an uninvited guest at a christening party. The birth of Franny Keating, the second daughter of Beverly and Fix Keating, is being celebrated. Fix is a cop with the LAPD and most of the guests are cops and their wives.

But then a lawyer with the DA's office, Bert Cousins, arrives. He wasn't invited and only knows Fix slightly. The party had been mentioned to him by one of the invited guests and he decided on his own to just show up. It is a fateful decision that will ultimately change the course of ten lives; two families, six children and two married couples.

On that sunny Sunday afternoon in Southern California, Bert Cousins meets Beverly Keating and is instantly attracted to her. Before the day is out, he has kissed her and things will never be the same again.

Ultimately, the two marriages break up. Bert marries Beverly and they move to Virginia with Beverly's two daughters. Bert's four children stay in California with their mother, even though he tries to convince her that she, too, should move to Virginia.

Over the years, the children make cross-country flights in summer to visit their non-custodial parents, and the Keating and Cousins children form their own lasting familial bond. They have a genuine affection for each other that was at first based on their mutual disappointment with their parents but that grew into something real and strong.

Then one summer day in Virginia, something terrible happens to the children, something that will haunt them and their parents for the rest of their lives.

Many years later, Franny is living in Chicago and working part-time as a waitress. She meets Leon Posen, a famous author whom she admires but who has not written a book in many years. She begins an affair with him and eventually tells him the story of her family. He turns the family story into a best-selling novel and the family tragedy is revealed to the world.

In the end, Patchett's archeological digging through the lives of her characters works brilliantly. All is revealed, sometimes with humor, sometimes with pathos, but always with a tender understanding of the ties that bind us in families and circles of caring. Her book is a wonderful meditation on all of that. I was sorry to see it end.

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

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