Amy and Isabelle by Elizabeth Strout: A review

This was Elizabeth Strout's debut novel, published in 1998. In it, she explores the fraught relationship between a single mother and her teenage daughter in the mill town of Shirley Falls. Isabelle, the mother, works in the office of the mill, as secretary to the boss, Avery Clark. Clark is married but Isabelle harbors some forlorn hope of establishing a romantic relationship with him. It's been many years since she had such a relationship. The other employees in the office see Isabelle as aloof and not "one of the girls."

Isabelle's relationship with her daughter, Amy, has always been a good one until Amy hits her teenage years. Then she begins to be critical and disdainful of her mother. When she is sixteen, her math teacher has a health crisis and is replaced by a substitute, Mr. Robertson. Robertson often singles Amy out in class and because of her beautiful golden hair tells her that she looks like a poet. Amy is entranced and develops a huge crush on the man. He is not unaware of her feelings and takes advantage of them to begin grooming her for a relationship. He starts driving her home from school and soon progresses to kissing her goodbye.

The Amy and Robertson relationship takes its expected course and one day while they are parked in a car on an out of the way lane, they are discovered by Isabelle's boss. He reports this to Isabelle with a great deal of embarrassment and she confronts Robertson and threatens to report him to the police since her daughter is underage. When she returns home, she cuts off Amy's glorious hair in a fit of rage. The rift between them seems complete.

During the summer, while one of the women at Isabelle's office is on medical leave, her boss agrees to hire Amy as a replacement for the summer. They have to at least pretend to get along to keep up appearances at the office, but all of the events of the past months take their toll and Isabelle begins to reflect on the circumstances of Amy's birth. We learn that she, as a teenager, was also groomed by a man who had been a friend of her deceased father and she became pregnant by him which derailed her plans for college and, in fact, all her plans for her life. Now, in her loneliness, she begins to reach out to her fellow employees and to develop bonds with them.

I think anyone who has ever been a daughter or a mother of daughters can identify with some of the stresses of Isabelle's relationship with her teenage daughter. It is seldom easy even under the best of circumstances and being a single mother with no family and few friends to support her hardly qualifies as the best of circumstances.

In this her first novel, the qualities that have made Elizabeth Strout such a successful writer are on full display. Her writing shows a wisdom about and an empathy for the human condition. She seems to have a deep affection for all of her characters and to take pleasure in making them known to us. She writes about ordinary people in their everyday lives and makes us empathize with them and hope that they will somehow find that sought for happily ever after future. This was a sterling beginning to her career as a published writer of fiction and nothing that she has published since has tarnished that sterling promise.

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: 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. ...

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