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metallicbranch's review against another edition
5.0
I found this book not quite as compelling as Out Stealing Horses, but I still found it wonderfully crafted and moving. It's a brutal and yet lyrical account of grieving, on par with-- though very different from-- The Year of Magical Thinking. Petterson, I find, conveys isolation like no other author, and uses, again, setting to wonderful effect. Descriptions of the wilderness of Norway make me feel like I've been there myself, and the character's relationships loom large. After reading this book, I felt the need to sit quietly and reflect for a while before moving on to the next one-- always a good sign.
jeanetterenee's review against another edition
4.0
It's hard to say much about this book without giving away what there is to discover by reading it. It's like a description by Arvid, the main character, in his own words, of the circuitous path he is taking in trying to reconcile his grief and survivor's guilt about the accidental deaths of his parents and two brothers. He is by turns aimless, anxious, restless, and disoriented, looking for something---absolution, maybe? Hope? He combines old memories with descriptions of what's happening in the present.
Really an unconventional book, but I do like Petterson's writing. Although there is despair, there's also humor and warmth and human contact. Arvid is reaching out to others, not just giving up and giving in, so we can hope he's on his way to healing.
Really an unconventional book, but I do like Petterson's writing. Although there is despair, there's also humor and warmth and human contact. Arvid is reaching out to others, not just giving up and giving in, so we can hope he's on his way to healing.
williamc's review against another edition
4.0
In the Wake reads like a dream diary in which emotions, ideas, and relationships emerge and submerge, never fully formed, but living, in their way, distinct and ever-present, haunting those who keep them close. This is a novel in which Arvid Jansen comes to narrative consciousness with his face pressed against the window of a book store, as if waking from a coma. It is, in fact, his brother who we find in a coma, while learning the rest of Jansen's family, appearing through flashbacks or via the artifacts that prove their existence, has died horribly by fire-at-sea — an event that mirrors the author's own life.
This is a tragic novel, but not a morbid one. The central issue seems to be not loss alone but the loneliness that travels with it, and Arvid surprises the reader in those relationships to which, like debris, he is able to pick up and create a connection. Those are the relationships that that stay in the reader’s mind at the novel's close - their awkwardness, unspoken intentions, and stunted growth create for the narrator not a surrogate but perhaps a new family that can carry loss toward a more landed identity in which hope can, if not exactly thrive, breathe, and flail, and mourn.
This is a tragic novel, but not a morbid one. The central issue seems to be not loss alone but the loneliness that travels with it, and Arvid surprises the reader in those relationships to which, like debris, he is able to pick up and create a connection. Those are the relationships that that stay in the reader’s mind at the novel's close - their awkwardness, unspoken intentions, and stunted growth create for the narrator not a surrogate but perhaps a new family that can carry loss toward a more landed identity in which hope can, if not exactly thrive, breathe, and flail, and mourn.
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