Lorrie Moore’s first novel in 14 years is a readable disappointment. It begins, unexpectedly, in the wake of the American Civil War, with a letter from a landlady to her sister about the latest goings-on in her boarding house. Moore’s attempt at period English here is grating, so it is relief when the novel leaps to the autumn of 2016 and the story of Finn.
When we meet him, Finn has been suspended from his job as a history teacher, is reeling from a breakup and is on his way to New York to visit his hospice-confined brother—just the sort of character-in-crisis Moore does so well.
And she does do it well initially. As always with her characters, the coping mechanism that Finn deploys is humour, and the “comedy act” he delivers to cheer his brother is frequently hilarious; but, at 30 pages, the scene overstays its welcome. It is odd to see this great writer of short stories be so longwinded.
Finn is eventually called away from the hospice by the news that his ex has killed herself. Arriving too late for the funeral, he visits her graveside alone, whereupon the novel takes an outrageous left turn towards the supernatural. Or maybe not so outrageous if we have been attending to those letters that have continued to appear: “I hear tell of rumors that in this very county the dead have risen as if it were Easter,” our landlady writes in one. The Civil War, we realise, has a haunting relevance to an America poised to elect Donald Trump.
Moore’s answer to all this death—choose life!—is needlessly overstated; her vibrant prose makes the point well enough on its own. It is just a shame the great writing does not have a better vehicle than this lacklustre novel.
