I trusted him like I trusted the sky to stay about my head, and the kettle to sing, and everything he ever told me was true, because why should I doubt him? I believed that starfish could grow new limbs, and gannets swam like white fishes, and mermaids were real, and babies were gifts, and pirates sailed in splintery boats, and that moonlight survived in a jar.Īlong with serious themes and infinite quotable passages, there is just the absolute loveliness of Fletcher’s language.
And, it does not matter if that trust is damaged by an intentional act, for we often betray others without knowing we have done so and with the kindest of intentions.Īnd I did trust him. How easily it is damaged, how hard to rebuild, and once we lose trust in one person, how difficult to establish it with someone else.
One of Fletcher’s themes, for me, would be betrayal of trust. The story is mesmerizing, and since it is Moira’s and told by her, we must read between the lines and try to follow her bouncing thoughts to places she doesn’t really mean to lead us. She is all too human, and all too afraid of her own emotions and those of others she is virtually unknown to everyone who should know her best, including her younger sister, who only sees and worships her from a distance. I found Moira quite unlikeable at times, and so vulnerable and alone at others that I could not help understanding and loving her. When the book begins, we find Moira Stone sitting at the bedside of her younger sister, Amy, who is in a coma from an accident, and there is the immediate sense that there is something troubling in this sibling relationship that will be revealed and that the accident will be more than just that to Moira herself.
She was a gift from my friend Candi, and one I took far too much time to open. If I haven’t already told you, I am in love with the poetic, lyrical sorcery of Susan Fletcher. Still, even in these adverse reading circumstances, it was magic every time I opened the covers. It deserved a slow, consistent read and a mind clear of all that jingle-jangling.
I stretched the reading of this book over almost a month, grabbing a chapter while doing the laundry, resting between the packing of boxes, or trying to forget how long the wait has been for my furniture to arrive at my new home.
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