Tell the Wolves I’m Home by Carol Rifka Brunt
My rating: 5 of 5 cats
this book is everything everything everything everything. i don’t even know where to start.
you book-criers?? this is for you. i didn’t, naturally, but god how i wanted to. this is the most poignant and tender book, full of real (i.e., not schmaltzy manipulative nicholas sparks-style) emotional pull.
its focus is june, a fourteen-year-old girl who is a character uncomfortable in her own reality. she would rather live in the middle ages, when magic and science were still intertwined, where the world was hushed and yet majestic. where the forest could envelop and shut out all problems. unfortunately, she lives in westchester in the 80’s, and her beloved uncle has just died of AIDS.
june is a tremendous character. and so lovingly written. you feel everything she feels: her confusion and her loss and her strength even when she doesn’t realize how strong she is being just by going to school and not giving a shit about what her peers think of her in her medieval boots and long skirts. because they are not important. all she cared about in the world was her uncle, and the times they shared listening to the requiem and drinking tea and going to the cloisters and endlessly creating worlds around themselves to the exclusion of all else, including june’s sister greta, with whom she used to be extremely close.
after finn’s death, june is shattered, and no one understands the depths of her pain. until someone does. until june begins to learn about other facets of her uncle’s life and meets someone who understands perfectly well the empty space finn’s death has left, and the long slow journey towards healing starts with one step, a teapot, and a painting.
first novel? how is this possible?
there are so very many passages here that i just wanted to eat up. this whole book is just perfect. every character, every moment of clarity, every petty jealous thought and hasty act. every moment when june takes a step back to really see what she has been misinterpreting or overlooking, every confession, every moment she spends with her parents… she is just a marvel of a character.
If things went my way, I would be working at a renaissance fair as a falconer. I wouldn’t have to worry about climbing career ladders or getting promotions, because falconry’s not like that. Either you’re a falconer or you’re not. Either the birds come back to you or they fly away.
both of her parents are accountants, which means that during tax season, when the events of the novel take place, she and her sister are “tax orphans,” taking care of themselves while her parents work long and exhausting hours and are not around to help her through her grief.
when her father comes home one evening, tired and sick and worked to the bone:
“Well, why do you do it, then?”
I meant it seriously. I really wondered why people were always doing what they didn’t like doing. It seemed like life was a sort of narrowing tunnel. Right when you were born, the tunnel was huge. You could be anything. Then, like, the absolute second after you were born, the tunnel narrowed down to about half that size. You were a boy, and already it was certain that you wouldn’t be a mother and it was likely you wouldn’t become a manicurist or a kindergarten teacher. Then you started to grow up and everything you did closed the tunnel in some more. You broke your arm climbing a tree and you ruled out being a baseball pitcher. You failed every math test you ever took and you canceled any hope of being a scientist. Like that. On and on through the years until you were stuck. You’d become a baker or a librarian or a bartender. Or an accountant. And there you were. I figured that on the day you died, the tunnel would be so narrow, you’d have squeezed yourself in with so many choices, that you just got squashed.
“Why do I do it?” my dad said. “That’s a no-brainer. For you. For you and Greta and your mother.”
“Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling immensely sad that somebody would throw their whole life away just to make sure other people were happy.
i mean, that is gorgeous. and a coming-of-age realization that doesn’t come across as trite and commonplace. and that last sentence will resonate after you finish the book. no doubt.
there are so many more passages here that i want to type out, but i think you should just read the book. trust a karen on this one – this is a keeper. i borrowed this from work, but i am just going to buy it instead of returning it. i don’t want anyone else touching this copy. this one is mine.
a note on the requiem. i spent about 20 minutes digging out my copy of it before sitting down to write this review, i rarely listen to music anymore. but the requiem has to be one of the most perfect musical pieces ever, and it has always shattered me while buoying me up at the same time. and this book is positively dripping with it. it is the perfect musical accompaniment. and it reminded me that this exists:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-Pgqe…
which is a cover of part of the requiem that this band played at my store one time, (better than this recording) and i remember i was shelving, walking across the floor with some books, and as soon as i realized what i was listening to, i dropped my arms and everything i was holding tumbled to the floor as i stood there, mesmerized, until they finished. it is kind of a fantastic interpretation. the version i heard is on this podcast:
http://www.podcast.tv/video-episodes/…
but i can’t figure out how to ffwd to the song, which is the last one they played that night, so someone should do that for me, because i think that version is way superior.
but really – read this book, even though this review is completely inadequate at even coming close to what it did to me, you have to.
