exlibrisbitsy's review against another edition
4.0
This turned out to be a wonderful collection of uplifting stories about love, forgiveness, romance, family and hope. Each short story contained a character that had either given up hope or was at a crossroads in their life and had to make a decision or take a leap of faith or sometimes just open their eyes to see the love that was all around them and in some cases had been all along. They were all written wonderfully, very literary and lyrical with wonderful twists and turns that were at once completely surprising and then after some thought completely expected.
My favorite story in the collection would have to be the title piece "Love Begins in Winter". It was about two people who had each experienced a great loss in their life and who had only been existing in the years since as they dealt with the blow of it. Only to find at the end of it that they were still alive, that there were others that understood them and that life still went on and they could go on with it.
The one I didn't like, and the story that caused this book to lose a star, was the story "Tiger, Tiger". Mainly about a woman who loved a man but found they wanted to be together but remain unmarried for a variety of reasons culminated in his parent's failed marriage. The story talks about the work of a doctor who shared his experiences treating children who wanted to share their love with their parents in various forms of play. It also talks about how she plays by biting a boy she likes as a child so hard he bleeds and closes with her doing the same to her lover and causing him subsequently to drive off the road and into a ditch. I didn't understand that one at all.
The rest of the stories were wonderful to read about and talked about the pain and pleasure of love of all sorts, familial, romantic and friendship. It talks about the pain of loss and unfaithfulness, about forgiveness and healing, and about making all sorts of relationships work across all sorts of different family combinations and situations in life. Life is messy, and this book doesn't attempt to pretty it up and tie it with a nice little bow. It shows it for what it is and makes the love to be found there beautiful because of it.
My favorite story in the collection would have to be the title piece "Love Begins in Winter". It was about two people who had each experienced a great loss in their life and who had only been existing in the years since as they dealt with the blow of it. Only to find at the end of it that they were still alive, that there were others that understood them and that life still went on and they could go on with it.
The one I didn't like, and the story that caused this book to lose a star, was the story "Tiger, Tiger". Mainly about a woman who loved a man but found they wanted to be together but remain unmarried for a variety of reasons culminated in his parent's failed marriage. The story talks about the work of a doctor who shared his experiences treating children who wanted to share their love with their parents in various forms of play. It also talks about how she plays by biting a boy she likes as a child so hard he bleeds and closes with her doing the same to her lover and causing him subsequently to drive off the road and into a ditch. I didn't understand that one at all.
The rest of the stories were wonderful to read about and talked about the pain and pleasure of love of all sorts, familial, romantic and friendship. It talks about the pain of loss and unfaithfulness, about forgiveness and healing, and about making all sorts of relationships work across all sorts of different family combinations and situations in life. Life is messy, and this book doesn't attempt to pretty it up and tie it with a nice little bow. It shows it for what it is and makes the love to be found there beautiful because of it.
shelfimprovement's review against another edition
3.0
It is impossible to read a book written by Simon van Booy without an arsenal of pens to underline all the beautiful sentences that he writes.
Also, the author biography cracks me up: "Simon van Booy was born in London and grew up in rural Wales and Oxford. After playing football in Kentucky, he lived in Paris and Athens."
One of these things is not like the other?
"I firmly believe that while lies and deception destroy love, they can also build and defend it. Love requires imagination more than experience."I'm not a huge short story reader, but I bought this collection because I loved his novel Everything Beautiful Began After so, so much. I liked these stories, too, but there was an element of...preciousness, maybe, to them that kept me from falling in love with them. It's essentially the same style he used in the novel, but it just doesn't hold the same magic for me in shorter form. It prevented the characters from really developing into something concrete, something multi-dimensional, and the reader is left instead with a lovely collection of delicate words that don't quite tell you the whole story.
Also, the author biography cracks me up: "Simon van Booy was born in London and grew up in rural Wales and Oxford. After playing football in Kentucky, he lived in Paris and Athens."
One of these things is not like the other?
murakamiangel's review against another edition
hopeful
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Loveable characters? Yes
3.0
caitlinxmartin's review against another edition
4.0
I don't read a lot of short stories. I tend to have a fondness for huge tomes that I strengthen my arms with by dragging them around with me wherever I go (they're too hard to read in bed, though - a problem). I like short stories, but sometimes they just end too fast and I want more. There are exceptions to this - I love Hemingway's spare stories and now I'm adding Simon Van Booy to this list.
At their core, these stories are about loneliness, the yearning for connection, the difficulty of making it and keeping it. In many ways these are people who can't quite remove themselves from the center of their own universe, can't quite let go and allow themselves to see what the world has on offer. Loneliness and longing define them and when they find a connection it is one of life's minor miracles for them.
All of this could be sentimental and sappy, but in Van Booy's hands it is not. Although at times it feels like he's trying just a little too hard, those moments are far overshadowed by his beautiful use of language. Most of all this reminds me of my Mississippi grandmother, Jesse.
My grandfather died relatively young and grandmother continued living her life alone - teaching and, after she retired, traveling all over. She used to always say that she "didn't need an old man to take care of." And then on one of her trips she met her second husband, Vernon. They were both in their seventies and had known each other in college - grandmother and grandaddy double dated with Vernon and his wife. Long story short they fell in love and had about fifteen glorious years together before Vernon died.
They were both amazing people - kind, loving, and giving. I can remember always thinking of them at times in my life when I was alone and lonely and felt like that would never change. I'd think, "Remember grandmother - it ain't over 'til its over." They taught me a lot about being open to love and connectedness and living in the joy of that. It's a lovely memory and was quite happy to read stories that evoked that for me. Thank you, Mr. Van Booy.
At their core, these stories are about loneliness, the yearning for connection, the difficulty of making it and keeping it. In many ways these are people who can't quite remove themselves from the center of their own universe, can't quite let go and allow themselves to see what the world has on offer. Loneliness and longing define them and when they find a connection it is one of life's minor miracles for them.
All of this could be sentimental and sappy, but in Van Booy's hands it is not. Although at times it feels like he's trying just a little too hard, those moments are far overshadowed by his beautiful use of language. Most of all this reminds me of my Mississippi grandmother, Jesse.
My grandfather died relatively young and grandmother continued living her life alone - teaching and, after she retired, traveling all over. She used to always say that she "didn't need an old man to take care of." And then on one of her trips she met her second husband, Vernon. They were both in their seventies and had known each other in college - grandmother and grandaddy double dated with Vernon and his wife. Long story short they fell in love and had about fifteen glorious years together before Vernon died.
They were both amazing people - kind, loving, and giving. I can remember always thinking of them at times in my life when I was alone and lonely and felt like that would never change. I'd think, "Remember grandmother - it ain't over 'til its over." They taught me a lot about being open to love and connectedness and living in the joy of that. It's a lovely memory and was quite happy to read stories that evoked that for me. Thank you, Mr. Van Booy.
fluentinsilence's review against another edition
4.0
Simon van Booy kende ik ook al, van The Secret Lives of People in Love. Ik denk, denk, dat ik zijn tweede bundel, Love Begins in Winter mooier vind. Maar, een heel klein beetje mooier maar. Ik ben internet zo enorm dankbaar, en al die boekenblogs in de wereld, want anders had ik Simon van Booy nooit leren kennen. Hij is nog niet vertaald in het Nederlands, en dat zal waarschijnlijk ook nog niet gebeuren, tenzij zijn Everything Beautiful Began After (zijn nieuwe boek, dat volgende week zal verschijnen) een hit wordt in Engeland en Amerika. Nederland loopt achter wat dat betreft, met heel veel moois.
Het begon al voordat ik was begonnen met het eerste verhaal. De dedication alleen al is buitengewoon: to LORILEE VAN BOOY - if you are not here, then why are you everywhere? ; Simon van Booy verloor zijn vrouw, en zijn dochtertje haar moeder, nog niet zoveel jaren terug. Daar is verder niet veel over te zeggen, maar deze dedication is mooi en voorspelt eigenlijk, stiekem, al een intens verhaal. Of, verhalenverzameling. Want Simon van Booy heeft wederom heel, heel mooie verhalen geschreven. Verhalen die ik waarschijnlijk mijn leven lang zal blijven herlezen. Niet alleen de verhalen zelf laten een indruk achter, een stempel, de schrijfstijl van van Booy is uniek. Hij is heel eerlijk in zijn observaties. En ergens is hij ook een heel positieve man, denk ik, en houdt hij van de wereld, van het leven. Een aantal voorbeelden (in deze fragmenten is de hoofdpersoon een man die cello speelt in schouwburgen, het is dus zijn 'werk' - de fragmenten komen uit het verhaal 'Love Begins in Winter', waar de bundel naar is vernoemd):
"I think music is what language once aspired to be. Music allows us to face God on our own terms because it reaches beyond life.
I feel moments from the end.
The muscles in my bowing arm tighten. The final notes are sonorous; I steady my bow like an oar held in a river, steering us all toward the bank of now and tomorrow and the day after that. Days ahead like open fields.
And night pools outside the concert hall. The city is still wet. The concert hall is glassed in and overlooks a garden. Eyes of rain dot the windows and shiver with each breath of wind. Stars fill the sky, then drop to flood the streets and the squares. When it rains, even the most insignificant puddle is a map of the universe." (p.5)
"When Bach died, some of his children sold his scores to the butcher; they had decided the paper was more useful for wrapping meat. In a small village in Germany, a father brought home a limp goose wrapped in paper that was covered with strand and beautiful symbols." (p.22)
"Music is only a mystery to people who want it explained. Music and love are the same." (p.22)
Er zitten nog meer post-its in mijn boek, de meeste quotes, zinnen, zijn echter mooier in context. Ergens voel je toch het verlies van zijn vrouw in van Booy's verhalen. Ze gaan allemaal over verlies, liefde (op iedere mogelijke manier) en ook over dromen. Over dromen die verdwijnen in het niets, de leegte die dat achter kan laten en vervolgens het kiezen voor de schaduw van het leven dat eigenlijk werd verwacht. Het verliezen van hoop, en dat terug vinden op een heel onverwachtse manier. Als ik er over nadenk zijn het bijna altijd sprookjes. Sommige iets tragischer dan de sprookjes die de maatschappij van nu verwacht of gewend is. Het eindigt niet altijd even 'gelukkig', maar zodra je een verhaal laat zakken en er dan weer over nadenkt heb je toch het idee dat je iets prachtigs hebt leren kennen. Ik wel, in ieder geval. Er is niet veel mis met een tragisch verhaal, je moet het echter wel leren doseren - te veel en het laat een vieze smaak achter.
Tot slot misschien wel het mooiste stukje van het eerste korte verhaal, een soort van bevrijding voor beide karakters:
"'See - this book belongs to you,' Hannah said sweetly.
'No, young lady,' the birdman said. 'It belongs to you - but you don't belong to it.'
He leaned in very close to her.
'You belong to you,' he said."
Het begon al voordat ik was begonnen met het eerste verhaal. De dedication alleen al is buitengewoon: to LORILEE VAN BOOY - if you are not here, then why are you everywhere? ; Simon van Booy verloor zijn vrouw, en zijn dochtertje haar moeder, nog niet zoveel jaren terug. Daar is verder niet veel over te zeggen, maar deze dedication is mooi en voorspelt eigenlijk, stiekem, al een intens verhaal. Of, verhalenverzameling. Want Simon van Booy heeft wederom heel, heel mooie verhalen geschreven. Verhalen die ik waarschijnlijk mijn leven lang zal blijven herlezen. Niet alleen de verhalen zelf laten een indruk achter, een stempel, de schrijfstijl van van Booy is uniek. Hij is heel eerlijk in zijn observaties. En ergens is hij ook een heel positieve man, denk ik, en houdt hij van de wereld, van het leven. Een aantal voorbeelden (in deze fragmenten is de hoofdpersoon een man die cello speelt in schouwburgen, het is dus zijn 'werk' - de fragmenten komen uit het verhaal 'Love Begins in Winter', waar de bundel naar is vernoemd):
"I think music is what language once aspired to be. Music allows us to face God on our own terms because it reaches beyond life.
I feel moments from the end.
The muscles in my bowing arm tighten. The final notes are sonorous; I steady my bow like an oar held in a river, steering us all toward the bank of now and tomorrow and the day after that. Days ahead like open fields.
And night pools outside the concert hall. The city is still wet. The concert hall is glassed in and overlooks a garden. Eyes of rain dot the windows and shiver with each breath of wind. Stars fill the sky, then drop to flood the streets and the squares. When it rains, even the most insignificant puddle is a map of the universe." (p.5)
"When Bach died, some of his children sold his scores to the butcher; they had decided the paper was more useful for wrapping meat. In a small village in Germany, a father brought home a limp goose wrapped in paper that was covered with strand and beautiful symbols." (p.22)
"Music is only a mystery to people who want it explained. Music and love are the same." (p.22)
Er zitten nog meer post-its in mijn boek, de meeste quotes, zinnen, zijn echter mooier in context. Ergens voel je toch het verlies van zijn vrouw in van Booy's verhalen. Ze gaan allemaal over verlies, liefde (op iedere mogelijke manier) en ook over dromen. Over dromen die verdwijnen in het niets, de leegte die dat achter kan laten en vervolgens het kiezen voor de schaduw van het leven dat eigenlijk werd verwacht. Het verliezen van hoop, en dat terug vinden op een heel onverwachtse manier. Als ik er over nadenk zijn het bijna altijd sprookjes. Sommige iets tragischer dan de sprookjes die de maatschappij van nu verwacht of gewend is. Het eindigt niet altijd even 'gelukkig', maar zodra je een verhaal laat zakken en er dan weer over nadenkt heb je toch het idee dat je iets prachtigs hebt leren kennen. Ik wel, in ieder geval. Er is niet veel mis met een tragisch verhaal, je moet het echter wel leren doseren - te veel en het laat een vieze smaak achter.
Tot slot misschien wel het mooiste stukje van het eerste korte verhaal, een soort van bevrijding voor beide karakters:
"'See - this book belongs to you,' Hannah said sweetly.
'No, young lady,' the birdman said. 'It belongs to you - but you don't belong to it.'
He leaned in very close to her.
'You belong to you,' he said."
angiedaz's review against another edition
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
4.0
akboysen's review against another edition
4.0
Sometimes I get tired of prose that seems too much like poetry, but Van Booy got it perfectly here. Beautiful writing, beautiful stories. It both inspires me to write and makes me want to forgo writing since someone else has clearly mastered it beyond anything I could do.
bookishcassie's review against another edition
5.0
I regret that I ever said "Simon Van Booy is not worth the hype." These were some of the best stories I've ever read and the PS from Harper Perennial was amazing.
kiwi_fruit's review against another edition
3.0
Breakdown:
Love begins in winter 3 stars
Tiger, Tiger 1.5 star
The missing statues 3 stars
The coming and going of strangers 3.5 stars
The city of windy trees 2 stars
Lovely evocative language!
Solitude and depression are like swimming and drowning.
Every moment is the paradox of now or never.
Every adult yearns for some stranger, but it is really childhood we miss. We are yearning for that which has been stolen from us by what we have become.
The rain tapped gently against the window, magnifying the backyards in long watery lines. The roofs of the buildings glistened black, and a tiny alphabet of birds hung motionless in the sky
Love begins in winter 3 stars
Tiger, Tiger 1.5 star
The missing statues 3 stars
The coming and going of strangers 3.5 stars
The city of windy trees 2 stars
Lovely evocative language!
Solitude and depression are like swimming and drowning.
Every moment is the paradox of now or never.
Every adult yearns for some stranger, but it is really childhood we miss. We are yearning for that which has been stolen from us by what we have become.
The rain tapped gently against the window, magnifying the backyards in long watery lines. The roofs of the buildings glistened black, and a tiny alphabet of birds hung motionless in the sky