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Hannah Coulter Paperback – September 30, 2005
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From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. "This is the story of my life, that while I lived it weighed upon me and pressed against me and filled all my senses to overflowing and now is like a dream dreamed.... This is my story, my giving of thanks." So begin the reflections of Hannah Coulter, the twice-widowed protagonist of this slim, incandescent novel in Berry's Port William series. In 1940, the precocious, innocent Hannah leaves her small Kentucky farming town to work as a secretary in nearby Hargrave, where she meets Virgil Feltner, seven years her senior, who gently courts her. They marry and have a daughter, but Virgil, "called to the army in 1942," dies in the Battle of the Bulge. Love follows mourning, as a kind but driven farmer, Nathan Coulter, returns from combat and woos Hannah. In delicate, shimmering prose, Berry tracks Hannah's loves and losses through the novel's first half; the narrative sharpens as Hannah recounts her children's lives—Margaret becomes a schoolteacher with a troubled son; Mattie ("a little too eager to climb Fool's Hill") flees rural life to become a globe-trotting communication executive; Caleb, Nathan's hope to run the family farm, becomes a professor of agriculture instead. Beneath the story of ordinary lives lies the work of an extraordinarily wise novelist: as Hannah relates her children's fate to her own deeply rooted rural background, she weaves landscape and family and history together ("My mind... is close to being the room of love where the absent are present, the dead are alive, time is eternal and all creatures prosperous"). Her compassion enlivens every page of this small, graceful novel.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to the Audible Audio Edition edition.
*Starred Review* For the first 40 pages or so, Berry's latest novel about the Kentucky farming community called, by its inhabitants as well as the author, the Port William membership, seems more of same. A good same, for few write American English more limpidly than Berry, and he has realized his characters as thoroughly as Faulkner did any of the people of Yoknapatawpha County. But as this telling of a farm woman's life in her voice continues--and voice it seems more than writing, so spontaneously speechlike are its cadences and the simple accuracy of its diction--it feels ever more poetic. Not gnomic and surrealist, like prose poetry, but flowing and long breathed, like epic poetry. Of course, the story it tells is epical, that of a heroine who expresses, in her living and doing, the essence of her people. Its character is domestic rather than martial; though, since its time span includes World War II, its trials include the MIA disappearance of Hannah's first husband and the ghastly combat experience of her second, Nathan Coulter, which Hannah learns of with any precision only after his death a half-century later. If its domesticity is more often happy and fulfilling, though, the cultural movement--the short, precipitate, ill-informed, poorly considered demise of the American family farm--over which Hannah's beautiful and heartbreaking story arches is as tragic as any war. Ray Olson
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved --This text refers to the Audible Audio Edition edition.
Top customer reviews
At times you crave a bit more dialogue (because when the dialogue does come it's superb) and sometimes a little more action of some sort (any sort) wouldn't have gone amiss. But the warmth of relationships, the detail of character and the wonderful feeling for what humanity is are all worth patiently reading through.
I could have done without the details of Nathan's probable experience of the war; it comes very late in the book (even though we've been forewarned of it from the beginning), and seems to jar against the book's poise. It doesn't contribute greatly to the story, except I suppose to show that this man had such integrity he was able to hold all this inside him and not poison others with it.
If one reads "Hannah Coulter" simply for the language, which at times, is lyrical, it would be a pleasurable endeavor, but it is his ability to portray Hannah, the eponymous woman, as a young uncertain girl, an impassioned newlywed, a middle-aged mother, and a twice widowed 80-year old grandmother looking back on her life, reflecting on the losses, while remaining grateful and caring that makes this novel both endearing and enduring. Hannah is a woman you'll not soon forget, nor will you want to. Berry's social commentary, however, is not subtle, as he bemoans the loss of family life, the destruction of the environment, and the psychological and cultural effects of war.
This is not your typical novel. There is not much of a plot and no “action” to speak of. Instead, this is a poignant account that walks the line between memoir and nostalgia. It’s the telling of a tale of a life well-lived. Through Hannah’s eyes, we catch a glimpse of rural life as it was often lived back then. Most of all, this is a love story—not a romance novel so common today—but a real, true, lasting love story told with authenticity and honesty. Like Hannah’s life, it is a story told slowly and purposely.
This novel was of particular interest to me because Hannah was born at the same time as my parents. Her story could easily have been my mother’s story, or the story of so many others from their generation. My mother grew up in rural Nebraska, the daughter of a man who earned his living from the land. It is a reminder of the importance of learning and passing on the stories of those who have come before us. As I read the book, I found myself thinking often of my family’s story. These stories are worth remembering and telling. “Hannah Coulter” reached something in me that just can’t described or named.