The Clockmaker's Daughter by Kate Morton: A review

Kate Morton's gothic tale of a haunted house encompasses over a hundred and fifty years of the house's history and a bewildering plethora of characters who have lived in it or whose lives have been touched by it.

It all kicks off in the summer of 1862 when a talented young artist named Edward Radcliffe travels with an entourage of friends in tow to a house called Birchwood Manor, located on the banks of the Upper Thames. The plan is that they will spend a relaxing month in the house, but before that month is over their best-laid plans have gone seriously awry. One woman has been shot dead, another one has disappeared, and a valuable family heirloom has gone missing. These events will haunt the next century and a half.

In the present day (2017) we meet Elodie, an archivist of the estate of a Victorian activist and reformer named James Stratton. We learn that Elodie is the daughter of a famous deceased cellist and that she is engaged to someone named Alastair whom we never actually meet but whom all evidence indicates is a controlling jerk.

One day at her work, Elodie discovers an old leather satchel that contains the sketchbook of the painter Edward Radcliffe. The book has a sketch of a house which is the spitting image of a house described to her by her mother (the now deceased cellist) in stories that she told her when Elodie was a child. There is also a sketch of a beautiful woman wearing a famed pendant known as the Radcliffe Blue. She is unsettled by these images and longs to see the house in the sketch.

She travels to Birchwood Manor where she hopes to solve a mystery about her mother's life...

Then the story veers away from Elodie and we learn more about Radcliffe and his model Lily and then all the other extensive cast of characters who have been a part of the house's history and by the time we return to Elodie a few hundred pages later (the book is 512 pages long) I had just about forgotten who she was.

The narrative continues on several parallel tracks and I found that very confusing. It didn't need to be that way, but there was no indication at each chapter's beginning as to whose story was being told. Thus, I would be reading along believing I was reading about one character when suddenly jolted to the awareness that it was someone else entirely. That annoyed me.

Moreover, new characters who proved to be central to the story continued to be introduced throughout the book. It was just too much. I think the book would have benefited from fewer characters and a tighter focus on the main story. None of the characters particularly excited my sympathy. Perhaps the titular character came closest, but the exposition of her tale was so interspersed and interrupted by all those other tales that I found it disconcerting.

All that being said, there is still much to like about the book. There is a rich amount of historical detail of the various periods that relate to the house's tale. Morton's prose is vividly descriptive and one can easily "see" the scene she is describing and feel the suspense that is evoked by events. But although the plot was interesting, I just couldn't find the characters all that engaging and I turned the last page with a sigh of relief.

My rating: 3 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: 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 ...

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. ...

The Nature of Things

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