From Publishers Weekly
In this overstuffed collection from Booker Prize–winner Enright (
The Gathering), the gems are overshadowed by the sheer number of stories (there are 31). Enright's talent lies in her ability to tweak an ordinary situation and create something that is at once unique and universal: two wives coming to different conclusions about their husbands' infidelities in Until the Girl Died and The Portable Virgin, an examination of elevator and pregnancy etiquette in Shaft or the permutations of sexual desire in Revenge. Other standouts such as Little Sister and Felix resonate because of their tight focus. In the former, the narrator pieces together her dead sister's life and realizes It was all just bits. I really wanted it to add up to something, but it didn't. In Felix, Enright riffs on
Lolita and creates an endearing and repulsive middle-aged woman narrator who has an affair with a neighborhood boy. But too often Enright's characters—more often than not female, first-person narrators—bleed into one another until their stories become jumbled in the reader's mind, as another unhappy wife or mother laments her situation.
(Sept.) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
From The Washington Post
From The Washington Post's Book World/washingtonpost.com The Irish writer Anne Enright won the 2007 Man Booker Prize for The Gathering, her ruthless, gorgeous novel about the power of secrets in family life. Enright's new book, Yesterday's Weather, is a collection of short stories written over the course of 19 years. It is interesting to encounter a powerful writer going free-range and operating outside the demands of a novel. Enright's subjects are family, children, love, domestic horror. The stories are strong and hard bitten. Something in them is always snagging and catching on grief, large or small. She is a confident writer, letting stories unfold at their own speed. Her best pieces have a fluid shape that feels close to the way we actually think, choose, muse. Some pieces, like "Until the Girl Died," are about the awful parts of marriage: tales of domestic hell, the contemporary Irish variety. Others are grounded in the ordinary life that seems to appeal to few American writers these days. "Caravan," for example, about a rainy family holiday on the cheap in France, is just the sort of cutting, generous, surprising story that Raymond Carver might have written, had he been an Irishwoman. The title story, "Yesterday's Weather," has to do with babies and in-laws, "nappies" and snot. Unpromising ingredients, but the story succeeds, even achieves a state of grace. Enright is often bloody-minded, never heartless. "The Cruise" is about aged parents and the limits of kinship, and feels awkwardly surprising and exactly true. "Little Sister" is about a girl dying of anorexia, told from the point of view of an older sister. Bare, fierce, daringly whimsical, it may be the strongest story in the collection, which is saying a lot. Some pieces are less successful. In "Honey," a woman on a business trip resolutely plans her seduction by a colleague, who reveals his awfulness. Enright's writing is so clear and supple here that the reader rereads, thinking he may have missed some essential line of connective tissue, but it does not seem to be there. Usually, though, Enright mixes ingredients just right, achieving that alluring instability the short story form seems to demand. Yesterday's Weather is a powerful book from a writer who speaks plainly and knows that hardly anything is quite as it seems.
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