Two consecutive quarantines knocked my schedule (and my health) for a loop, but I did manage a little stitching. Lolli and Grace's Floral Heart:
I'm loving her signature mix of bright colors, embroidery, and tiny felt details, and I plan on stitching more.
Fun with cutter quilts!
Schwab's novel is a modern Faust, if Faust were a woman who just wanted control of her life. In a small village in France in 1714, to avoid an unwanted marriage Addie LaRue makes a desperate plea to a sinister power she names Luc in exchange for yielding her soul when she tires of life. But like all such bargains, there are unintended consequences: no one will remember Addie's existence as soon as she is out of sight; nor can she tell her story, say her name, or leave a mark of any kind. She will move through the centuries like a ghost.
But Addie is nothing if not resourceful. After a few harrowing years she learns how to see to her needs, how to steal clothing and food, how to find safe places to sleep. She settles for brief encounters with people in lieu of actual relationships. And eventually, she realizes how she can leave her mark after all -- through art. She cannot create, but she can inspire and encourage and leave behind a trail of paintings, sculptures, and songs (even if the artists never remember her). It's a life, if not a typical one. And then she meets Henry, and he remembers her.
There is romance, of course, and much of the narrative is driven by her relationships with Henry and Luc, but those serve as the scaffolding for what Schwab is really interested in: the power of art to create a legacy, and the ability to find value in life no matter how much one suffers. In many ways, Addie reminds me of Hob Gadling from The Sandman comics. He also makes a deal for enternal life, and never loses his passion for living despite all he goes through.
I enjoyed the novel quite a bit, although it's not without its flaws. Like a number of modern works with a fantastical element, it lacks a coherent theology, for lack of a better word. Luc and his kind are referred to as "old gods," but it's not clear what he actually is or how he relates to the Judeo-Christian God of Addie's family. And as the novel proceeds, he behaves more like a dangerous fairy rather than anyone who could be worshiped. At one point we see him destroy a soul, but there is no discussion of what happens to souls that are not claimed by him, no reference to an afterlife of any kind. It's not clear, then, what the consequences are of Addie giving her soul to Luc, other than death (which happens to everyone).
But I suppose it doesn't matter -- Addie has no intention of ever tiring of life. There's too much out there to experience.
Setterfield's lovely, melancholy novel opens on the Winter Solstice, 1887. Locals have gathered at the Swan Inn for their usual storytelling, when a severely injured man carrying a dead girl enters and collapses. Hours later, the dead girl miraculously comes to life, and the villagers are left with the story of a lifetime. But who is she? The girl herself won't speak, so everyone is left to speculate; is she the child of a wealthy family kidnapped two years ago, the granddaughter of a local farmer whose son can't stay out of trouble, a sister gone missing decades ago, a gypsy girl left behind by accident?
At its heart, Once Upon a River is about the stories we tell -- to entertain, to remind us of what happened, to convince others, to hide from ourselves, to heal. The novel spans a year, during which we get to know a large number of locals, all of them movingly characterized. Setterfield is a gentle writer who is able to find the humanity in everyone. Life on the Thames in 1887 could be brutal and cruel, but also kind and forgiving. And if you get a good story out of it, so much the better.
