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I found this book one Saturday afternoon last autumn at a stall in a church fair in Geneva. The pews had been cleared away, and coloured light from old stained-glass windows lay across the tables in the nave. They wanted three francs for each book; it was the last day of my trip and three francs was all I had left. There were many, many books I would have liked to take with me, and would have, if I had the money. But I did not, so I was more than a little careful in my choice. Perhaps it was the author’s photo on the back that caught my eye – dreamy yet alert, and somehow passionate. Perhaps it was the hazy sunset coastline on the front. Perhaps it was the utter Irishness of it. In any case, this book was the right one. It’s full of dreamings and longings, also pain, but in a beautiful kind of way. A dying father, consumed with love for his only son and devotion to God. A son, hopelessly enamoured with a touring Italian violinist who does not know happiness when she sees it. In the slow but relentless passing of the seasons in wind-blown counties, both learn the meaning of what they have been lacking all their lives. Their drawing nearer to each other is like a delicate dance of passion – now close together, now far apart… now clung to and now denied, and finally fulfilled. The secrets of chess games, floral scents and pet birds, Venetian dawns and Dublin dusks, sea spray and sunshine, joys and tragedies – all are described with a gentle immediacy. You can smell the spring air and the winter rain, you can see inside the humanness of both lovable and difficult characters, you can feel the crystal-clear light and the silence, touch the sweat and the ancient earth, and sense the desperation in the hearts of the lovers. The eternal romance story keeps the reader enthralled merely by the realness of it all, the author’s skilled painting of masterpiece after masterpiece. It doesn’t feel like reading a book – rather, it is like visiting an art gallery where each and every painting is momentously real, yet with a gentle beauty opening new windows to the tragedy and exuberance of human existence, speaking to the depths of my own being. Love is universal, loss does not have to stunt you forever, an unhappy past can be overcome, country wisdom is good for your soul, and impossible goals can be achieved. Such and many more are the truths in this tale, which is not really a tale at all, but a series of minute glimpses into completely normal lives – their hopes and dreams and disappointments, their failures and ultimate successes. As It Is in Heaven is a delightful novel, simple and unassuming, so easy to read and experience. An Irish pleasure and a celebration of humanness. What are you waiting for? Reviewed by Grace
Copyright © 2006-2008 CK2S Kwips and Kritiques. All rights reserved. |
AS IT IS IN HEAVEN
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