A review by hannaww
Klockmakarens dotter by Kate Morton
5.0
This was a wonderful but tragic story that centers around time, the act of remembering and the concept of home. The story is inter generational and takes place between 1844 and 2017 in The UK. It follows a handful of different characters and the people around them while telling the life stories of these people. The one thing that all the characters have in common and that ties them together is a single place, Birchwood manor. This place is one that has changed them profoundly and the story becomes the story of the house in a sense. It is a place of freedom, a place of security, a place of creativity and a place of grief and a feeling of being trapped. The story that unwraps is the memory of a never-known girl and her tragic fate. It is the story of an archivist searching for answers, a former soldier searching for purpose, a widow searching for a safe place for her children, a young girl searching for her place away from home, a woman searching for forgiveness and a soul finding peace. It's a story of loss and love of art and mythology. How the past, the present and the future can be found in one single place where they all intertwine, in this case at Birchwood manor.
I loved this book because of the beautiful writing, the layers of the story and the thought of how history and future can come together in a single place. Historical fiction stories are always interesting to me since it reminds me of how one day a life will just be measured between two years. Eloquently put by Kate Morton: "Under Radcliffes namn på stenen stod med mindre bokstäver: Här vilar en man som sökte efter sanning och ljus och såg det sköna i alla skapade ting, 1840-1880. Som så ofta tänkte Leonard på strecket mellan årtalen. Det mossövervuxna skiljetecknet inrymde en människas hela liv, hennes barndom, hennes förälskelser, allt hon förlorat, allt hon varit rädd för - det hela reducerat till ett streck på en sten på en liten fridfull lantkyrkogård."(s.229). (“On Radcliffe's headstone, in smaller text beneath his name, was written, Here lieth one who sought truth and light and saw beauty in all things, 1842-1882. Leonard [Gilbert] found himself staring as he often did at the dash between the dates. Within that lichen-laced mark there lay the entire life of a man: his childhood, his loves, his losses and fears, all reduced to a single chiseled line on a piece of stone in a quiet churchyard at the end of a country lane. Leonard wasn't sure whether the thought was comforting or distressing; his opinion changed, depending on the day.”) The lives of people are just part of a bigger picture, a small part of the story of humanity. There are so many life stories in the world, both in the past and the present, and not nearly everyone are remembered by grand statues or immortalized in history books. Most people just live their lives and stay alive in stories passed down orally through the family. Small pieces of that person disappearing with every generation until there is nothing left to remember.
I loved this book because of the beautiful writing, the layers of the story and the thought of how history and future can come together in a single place. Historical fiction stories are always interesting to me since it reminds me of how one day a life will just be measured between two years. Eloquently put by Kate Morton: "Under Radcliffes namn på stenen stod med mindre bokstäver: Här vilar en man som sökte efter sanning och ljus och såg det sköna i alla skapade ting, 1840-1880. Som så ofta tänkte Leonard på strecket mellan årtalen. Det mossövervuxna skiljetecknet inrymde en människas hela liv, hennes barndom, hennes förälskelser, allt hon förlorat, allt hon varit rädd för - det hela reducerat till ett streck på en sten på en liten fridfull lantkyrkogård."(s.229). (“On Radcliffe's headstone, in smaller text beneath his name, was written, Here lieth one who sought truth and light and saw beauty in all things, 1842-1882. Leonard [Gilbert] found himself staring as he often did at the dash between the dates. Within that lichen-laced mark there lay the entire life of a man: his childhood, his loves, his losses and fears, all reduced to a single chiseled line on a piece of stone in a quiet churchyard at the end of a country lane. Leonard wasn't sure whether the thought was comforting or distressing; his opinion changed, depending on the day.”) The lives of people are just part of a bigger picture, a small part of the story of humanity. There are so many life stories in the world, both in the past and the present, and not nearly everyone are remembered by grand statues or immortalized in history books. Most people just live their lives and stay alive in stories passed down orally through the family. Small pieces of that person disappearing with every generation until there is nothing left to remember.