The nearly 1000 pages of Ducks, Newburyport contain the musings of an Ohio housewife, written in a unique stream-of-consciousness style with nary a period or paragraph break. It's an intimidating block of text, but the prose flows smoothly once you fall into its rhythms. Words and ideas pop up obliquely, their connection to the surrounding thoughts unclear, only to bear fruit many pages later. The two words of the title, for example, come to our narrator's mind a few times before she finally thinks more about the story of her mother nearly drowning as a child when she chased ducks into a pond in Newburyport. The larger themes of the book emerge in the same circuitous way.
The story has subtle and interesting things to say about maternal relationships, the necessary white-washing of history and how it impacts our attitudes, and how we carry on and find joy in the face of everyday fears.
Three things prevent me from giving Ducks, Newburyport the coveted five star rating:
The story has subtle and interesting things to say about maternal relationships, the necessary white-washing of history and how it impacts our attitudes, and how we carry on and find joy in the face of everyday fears.
Three things prevent me from giving Ducks, Newburyport the coveted five star rating:
- The length, while possibly necessary, is intimidating.
- The interspersed sections about a mountain lion feel increasingly contrived.
- The narrator doesn't have any epiphany or growth.
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