Everywhere hailed for its emotional intensity and unflagging narrative momentum, this magnificent novel transports us to the turn of the twentieth century, to the world of a prominent Boston family summering on the New Hampshire coast, and to the social orbit of a spirited young woman who falls into a passionate, illicit affair with an older man, with cataclysmic results.
|Publisher:||Little, Brown and Company|
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 1.19(d)|
|Age Range:||13 Years|
About the Author
Hometown:New Hampshire; Massachusetts
Date of Birth:1946
Education:B.A., Tufts University
Read an Excerpt
In the time it takes for her to walk from the bathhouse at the seawall of Fortune?s Rocks, where she has left her boots and has discreetly pulled off her stockings, to the waterline along which the sea continually licks the pink and silver sand, she learns about desire. Desire that slows the breath, that causes a preoccupied pause in the midst of uttering a sentence, that focuses the gaze absolutely on the progress of naked feet walking toward the water. This first brief awareness of desireand of being the object of desire, a state of which she has had no previous hintcomes to her as a kind of slow seizure, as of air compressing itself all around her, and causes what seems to be the first faint shudder of her adult life.
She touches the linen brim of her hat, as she would not have done a summer earlier, nor even a day earlier. Perhaps she fingers the hat?s long tulle sash as well. Around her and behind her, there are men in bathing costumes or in white shirts and waistcoats; and if she lifts her eyes, she can see their faces: pale, wintry visages that seem to breathe in the ocean air as if it were smelling salts, relieving the pinched torpor of long months shut indoors. The men are older or younger, some quite tall, a few boys, and though they speak to each other, they watch her.
Her gait along the shallow shell of a beach alters. Her feet, as she makes slow progress, create slight and scandalous indentations in the sand. Her dress, which is a peach silk, turns, when she steps into the water, a translucent sepia. The air is hot, but the water on her skin is frigid; and that contrast makes hershiver.
She takes off her hat and kicks up small splashes amongst the waves. She inhales long breaths of the sea air, which clear her head. Possibly the men observing her speculate then about the manner in which delight seems suddenly to overtake her and to fill her with the joy of anticipation. And are as surprised as she is by her acceptance of her fate. For in the space of time it has taken to walk from the seawall to the sea, perhaps a distance of a hundred yards, she has passed from being a girl, with a child?s pent-up and nearly frenzied need to sweep away the rooms and cobwebs of her winter, to being a woman.
It is the twentieth day of June in the last year of the century, and she is fifteen years old.
Olympia?s father, in his white suit, his hair a fading ginger and blowing upwards from his brow, is calling to her from the rocks at the northern end of the beach. The rocks upon which it has been the fate of many sailors to founder, thus lending the beach and the land adjacent to this beach the name of Fortune. He cups his mouth with his hands, but she is deaf from the surf. A white shape amidst the gray, her father is a gentle and loving man, unblemished in his actions toward her, although he believes himself in possession of both her body and her soul, as if they were his and not hers to squander or bestow.
Earlier this day, Olympia and her father and her mother journeyed north from Boston by train to a cottage that, when they entered, was white with sheets and oddly without dust. Olympia wished when she saw the sheets that her mother would not ask Josiah, who is her father?s manservant, to take them off the furniture, because they made fantastical abstract shapes against the six pairs of floor-to-ceiling windows of the long front room. Beyond the glass and the thin glaze of salt spray lay the Atlantic with its cap of brilliant haze. In the distance, there were small islands that seemed to hover above the horizon line.
The cottage is a modest one by some standards, although Olympia?s father is a wealthy man. But it is unique in its proportions, and she thinks it lovely beyond words. White with dark blue shutters, the house stands two stories high and is surrounded by several graceful porches. It is constructed in the style of the grand hotels along Fortune's Rocks, and in Rye and Hampton to the south: that is to say, its roof curves shallowly and is inset with evenly spaced dormer windows. The house has never been a hotel, but rather was once a convent, the home of the Order of Saint Jean Baptiste de Bienfaisance, twenty sisters who took vows of poverty and married themselves to Jesus. Indeed, an oddity of the structure is its many cell-like bedrooms, two of which Olympia and her father occupy and three of which have been connected for her mother?s use. Attached to the ground floor of the house is a small chapel; and although it has been deconsecrated, Olympia?s family still cannot bring themselves to place their own secular belongings within its wooden walls. Except for a dozen neat wooden benches and a wide marble stone that once served as an altar, the chapel remains empty.
Outside the house and below the porches are massive tangles of hydrangea bushes. A front lawn spills down to the seawall, which is little more than a rocky barricade against the ocean and which is covered at this time of year with masses of beach roses. Thus, the view from the porch is one of emerald leaves with blots of pink against a blue so sparkling it is not so much a color as the experience of light. To the west of the lawn are orchards of Sheep?s Nose and Black Gilliflower apples, and to the north is the beach which stretches two miles along the coast. Fortune's Rocks is the name not only for the horseshoe of land that cradles this beach, but also for the gathering of summer houses, of which the Biddefords? is but one, on its dunes and rocks.
"Olympia, I called to you," her father says when she, with her wet hem, climbs up to the rock on which he is standing. She expects him to be cross with her. In her impatience to feel the sea on her feet, she inadvertently went to the beach during the men's bathing hours, an activity that might be acceptable in a girl, but is not in a young woman. Olympia explains as best she can that she is sorry; she simply forgot about the men?s bathing hours, and she was not able to hear him call to her because of the wind. But as she draws nearer to her father and looks up at his face and observes the manner in which he glances quickly away from herthis is not like himshe realizes that he must have witnessed her bare-legged walk from the seawall to the ocean's edge. His eyes are watering some in the wind, and he seems momentarily puzzled, even bewildered, by her physical presence.
"Josiah has prepared a tray of bread and pastes," her father says, turning back to her and regaining the slight loss of his composure. "He has taken it to your mother's room so that you both might have something to eat after the long journey." He blinks once and bends to his watch. "My God, Olympia, what a shambles," he adds.
He means, of course, the house.
"Josiah seems to be handling the crisis well enough," she offers.
"Everything should have been prepared for our arrival. We should have had the cook by now."
Her father wears his frock coat still. His boots are heavy and black and covered with dust, and she thinks he must be extraordinarily hot and uncomfortable. Clearly, he dressed that day with some indecisiontrailing Boston behind him even as he was anticipating the sea.
In the bright sunlight, Olympia can see her father?s face more clearly than she has all winter. It is a strong face, one that suggests character, a face he inherited from his father before him and then later, through his own behavior, has come to deserve. His most striking feature is the navy of his eyes, a blue so vivid that his eyes alone, even with the flecks of rust in the irises, suggest moral rectitude. A fan of wrinkles, however, as well as folds of skin at the lids, soften the suggested righteousness. His hair is graying at the sides and thinning at the front, but he has high color and has not yet begun to grow pale as is so often the fate of ginger-haired men in their middle age. Olympia is not sure if she has ever thought about her father?s height, nor can she accurately say how tall he isonly that he is taller than her mother and herself, which seems in keeping with the proper order of the universe. His face is elongated, as Olympia?s will one day be, although neither of them is precisely thin.
"When you have finished your tea, I should like to see you in my study," her father says in the ordinary manner in which he is accustomed to speak to her, though even she can see that something between them has changed. The sun etches imperfections in his skin, and there are, in that unforgiving light, tiny glints of silver and ginger spread along his jaw line. He squints in the glare.
"I have some matters I need to discuss with you. Matters relating to your summer study and so forth," he adds.
Her heart falls at the mention of summer study, since she is anxious to have a break from her singular, yet intense, schooling. Her father, having lost faith in the academies, has taken her education upon himself. Thus she is his sole pupil and he her sole teacher. He remains convinced that this education is progressing at a pace not dreamt of in the academies and seminaries, and that its breadth is unsurpassed anywhere in New England, which is to say the United States. Possibly this is true, Olympia thinks, but she cannot say: It has been four years since she last attended classes with other girls.
"Of course," she answers.
He looks at her once and then lets his eyes drift over her right shoulder and out to sea. He turns and begins to walk back to the cottage. As she gazes at his slightly hunched posture, a physical characteristic she has not ever noticed before, she feels suddenly sad for her father, for the thing that he is losing, which is the guardianship of her childhood.
She floats through the house, appreciating the sculptures made by the white sheets strewn over the furnishings. A coat rack becomes a maiden ghost; a long dining room table an operating theater; a set of chairs piled one on top of the other and shrouded in white becomes a throne. She climbs the stairs in the front hall to her mother?s rooms.
Her mother is resting unperturbed on a peacock chaise that has been uncovered and looks directly out to sea. She seems not to notice the man perched on a ladder just outside her window. He has in one hand a bottle of vinegar and in the other a crumpled wad of newsprint. Josiah wears an overall for this task although he also has on a waistcoat and a formal collar underneath. Later, when the windows have been cleaned, he will take off the overall, put his suit coat back on, adjust his cuffs under the sleeves and walk into the study, where he will ask Olympia?s father if he wishes his customary glass of London porter. And then Josiah, a man who has been with her father for seventeen years, before her father's marriage and her birth, and who has without complaint taken upon himself the washing of the windows in her mother's rooms because he does not want her view of the ocean to be obscured on this, her first day of her summer visit (even though such a task is thoroughly beneath him), will walk down the long pebbled drive and onto Hampton Street to lay into Ezra Sikes, the new man, who was to have had the house prepared before Olympia?s family arrived.
Since Olympia?s mother is partial to hues of blue, even in the summer months, she has on that day a wisteria crepe blouse with mother-of-pearl buttons and long deep cuffs that hide her wrist bones and flatter her hands. At her waist is a sash of Persian silk. This preference for blue is to be seen as well in the fabrics of her roomthe pale beryl sateen puff on the bed, the peacock silk brocade of the chaise, the powder velvet drapes at the windows. Her mother?s rooms, Olympia thinks, suggest excessive femininity: They form a boudoir, separate, cut off from the rest of the house, the excess not to be condoned, not to be seen by others, not echoed anywhere else in the austere furnishings of the cottage.
Her mother lifts a cup to her lips.
"Your skin is pink," she says to Olympia lightly, but not without a suggestion of parental admonition. Olympia has been told often to wear a hat to protect her face from the sun. But she was unable to forgo for those few happy moments at the water's edge the sensation of heat at the top of her head. She knows, however, that her mother does not seriously begrudge her this small pleasure, despite her inordinate regard for beauty.
Beauty, Olympia has come to understand, has incapacitated her mother and ruined her life, for it has made her dependent upon people who are desirous of seeing her and of serving her: her own father, her husband, her physician and her servants. Indeed, the preservation of beauty seems to be all that remains of her mother?s life, as though the other limbs of the spiritindustriousness, curiosity and philanthropyhave atrophied, and only this one appendage has survived. Her mother?s hair, which has been hennaed so that it has taken on the color of a roan, is caught with combs at the sides and rolled into a complex series of knots that Olympia herself has yet to master. Her mother has pale, pearl-gray eyes. Her face, which is both handsome and strong, belies her spirit, which is uniquely fragileso fragile that Olympia herself has often seen it splinter into glittering bits.
"Josiah has prepared a tray," her mother says, gesturing to the display of paste sandwiches.
Olympia sits at the edge of the chaise. Her mothers knees make small hillocks in the indigo landscape of her skirt. "I am not hungry," Olympia says, which is true.
"You must eat something. Dinner will not be for hours yet."
To please her mother, Olympia takes a sandwich from the tray. For the moment, she avoids her mother?s acute gaze and studies her room. They do not have their best furnishings at Fortune's Rocks, because the sea air and the damp are ruinous to their shape and surface. But Olympia does like particularly her mother's skirted dressing table with its many glass and silver boxes, which contain her combs and her perfumes and the fine white powder she uses in the evenings. Also on the dresser are her mother?s many medicines and tonics. Olympia can see, from where she sits, the Pigeon Milk, the Pennyroyal Pills, the Ginger Tonic and Johnson?s Lineament.
For as long as Olympia can remember, her mother has been referred to, within her hearing and without, as an invalidan appellation that does not seem to distress her mother and indeed appears to be one she herself cultivates. Her ailments are vague and unspecific, and Olympia is not certain she has ever been properly diagnosed. She is said to have sustained a back injury as a girl, and Olympia has heard the phrase "liver ailment" tossed about from time to time. There is, in Boston, a physician who visits her frequently, and perhaps he is not the charlatan Olympia?s father thinks him. Although even as a girl, Olympia was certain that Dr. Ulysses Branch visited her mother for her company rather than for her rehabilitation. Her mother never seems actually to be unwell, and Olympia sometimes thinks about the term invalid as it is applied to her mother: invalid, in valid, not valid, as though, in addition to physical strength, her mother lacked a certain authenticity.
As a result of these vague disabilities, Olympia?s mother is not the caretaker in the family, but rather the one cared for. Olympia has decided that this must suit both of her parents well enough, for neither of them has ever taken great pains to amend the situation. And, as time has gone on, perhaps as a result of actual atrophy, her mother has become something of a valid invalid. She seldom leaves the house, except to have her husband walk her at dusk to the seawall, where she will sit and sing to him. For years, her mother has maintained that the sea air has a salubrious effect on both her spirits and her vocal cords. Despite the humidity, she keeps a piano at Fortune's Rocks as well and will occasionally leave her rooms and play with some accomplishment. Olympia?s mother has wonderful bones, but Olympia will not inherit her face or the shape of her body or, thankfully, the brittleness of her spirit.
Olympia?s mother, who met her father in Boston at a dinner arranged by her own father when she was twenty-three, did not marry until she was twenty-eight. Although she was considered a handsome woman, it was said that her nerves, which were self-effacing to a degree of near annihilation, rendered her too delicate for marriage. Olympia?s father, ever one for a challenge and captivated by those very characteristics that frightened other men awaythat is to say, her mother's alternating fugue-like states of intense quiet and imaginative flights of fancypursued her with an ardor that he himself seldom admits to. Olympia does not know what to make of her parents? married life, for her mother appears to be, though sensitive to a fault, the least physical of all women, and oftentimes, if surprised, can be seen to flinch at her husband's touch. Olympia?s thoughts balk, however, at crossing the veil to that forbidden place where she might be able to imagine in detail her parents? marriage. For it is a marriage that has seemed to thin as it has endured, until it appears to Olympia, by the summer of her fifteenth year, that there is only the one child and the vaguest and most formal of connections between them.
"You are quiet, Olympia," her mother says, eyeing her carefully. Though fragile, her mother can be astute, and it is always difficult to hide from her one's true thoughts. Olympia has been, indeed, thinking about her walk along the beach, viewing it as if from beside herself, seeing the somewhat blurry and vague figure of a young woman in peach silk conveying herself to the water's edge under the scrutiny of several dozen men and boys. And in her mother's room she blushes suddenly, as if she has been caught out.
Her mother shifts slightly on the chaise. "I fear I may already be too...too tardy in this discussion," she begins diffidently, "but I cannot help but notice, indeed, I think I am quite struck by this; that is to say, I am very mindful today of certain physical characteristics of your person, and I think we must soon have a talk about certain possible future occurrences, about certain dilemmas all women have to bear."
Though the sentence cannot be parsed, her meaning can be; and Olympia shakes her head quickly or waves her hand, as though to tell her she need not go on. For she has relied heavily upon Lisette, her mother's maid, for information on matters of the body. Her mother looks startled for a moment, in the manner of someone who has hastily prepared a lengthy speech and has been stopped mid-sentence.
But then, as she sits there, Olympia observes that relief overtakes her and flatters her features.
"Someone has discussed this with you?" her mother asks.
"Lisette," Olympia says, wishing the conversation over.
"When was this?"
"Some time ago."
"Oh. I have wondered."
And Olympia wonders, too, at the silence of Lisette regarding the daughter of her mistress. She hopes the woman will not receive a scolding for this confidence.
"You are settled?" her mother asks quickly, eager now as well to change the subject. "You are happy here?"
"Quite happy," Olympia answers, which is true and is what her mother wants to hear. It is essential that her mother?s placidity not be disturbed.
At the window, Josiah moves the ladder, causing both of them to look up in his direction.
"I wonder...." her mother says, musing to herself. "Do you think Josiah a handsome man?"
Olympia looks at the figure framed seemingly in mid-air. He has light-brown hair that waves back from a high forehead and a narrow face that seems in keeping with the length of his slim build. Mildly astonished as Olympia always is by any sudden and surprising crack in her mother?s long-practiced poise, she cannot think of how to answer her.
"Do you imagine that he keeps a mistress in Ely Falls?" her mother asks, pretending to wickedness. But then, after a brief heartbeat of silence, during which Olympia imagines she hears her mother's longing for (and immediate dismissal of) another life, she answers herself: "No, I suppose not," she says.
Altogether, it is a day on which everyone around Olympia seems to be behaving oddly. She does not know whether this is a consequence of truly altered behavior on their part, or of her perception of herself, which she thinks she must be giving off, like a scent. How else to explain the uncharacteristic inarticulateness of her father, or the forays of her mother into subjects she normally avoids?
"I should like you to take the tray with you when you go. To help Josiah, who is quite overwhelmed I fear."
Olympia is not as surprised by this non-sequitur as she might be, since her mother has a gift for abandoning subjects she has suddenly decided she does not wish to discuss further. Olympia stands up from the chaise and bends to lift the silver tray, happy to help Josiah, whom she likes. She is relieved to be dismissed.
"You must be more protective of yourself," her mother says as she leaves the room.
After Olympia has returned the tray to the kitchen, she walks into her father's study, where he sits, in an oversized mahogany captain's chair, reading, she can see, The Shores of Saco Bay by John Staples Locke, the first of the many volumes he will devour during the summer. Her father is, both by profession and by inclination, a disciplined and learned man, discipline being, in his belief, a necessary hedge against dissolution; therefore, he does not like to change his routine even on this first day of vacation, despite the lack of preparation for their arrival and the resulting chaos.
During this summer, as in past summers, her father will invite to their cottage a succession of guests whom he has met largely through his position as president of The Atlantic Literary Club or as editor of The Bay Quarterly, a periodical of no small literary reputation. He will hold lengthy discussions with these people, who are most often poets or essayists or artists, in a kind of continuous salon. During the day, he will oversee the recreation of the visitors, which will be bathing at the beach or tennis at the Ely Tennis Club or boating through the pink-tinged marshes of the bay at sunset. Evening meals will be long and will last well into the night, even though his wife will excuse herself early. The women who will come to these dinners will wear white linen dresses and shawls of woven silk. Olympia has always been fascinated by the clothing and accessories of their female guests.
Her father glances down at the hem of her own dress, which is still damp. She asks him what he recommends that she read first that summer. He removes his spectacles and sets them on the green marble table beside his chair, which is a replica of the one he has by his chair in his library in Boston. Around them, the windows are thrown open, and the room is flooded with the peculiar salt musk of the outgoing tide.
"I should like you to read the essays of John Warren Haskell," he says, reaching for a volume and handing it to her. "And then you and I will discuss its contents, for the author is here at Fortune?s Rocks and is coming to stay with us for the weekend."
And that is the first time she hears John Haskell's name.
"Haskell is bringing his wife and children with him," her father adds, "and I hope you will help to entertain them."
"Of course," she says, smoothing her palm across the book's brown silk cover and fingering its gilt-embossed title, "but as to these essays, I do not know the author."
"Haskell is a man of medicine and lectures occasionally at the college, which is where I originally met him; but his true calling, in my estimation, is as an essayist, and I have published several of his best. Haskell?s interests lie with labor, and he seems most particularly keen on improving living and working conditions for mill girls. Hence his further interest in Ely Falls."
"I see," she says to her father as she riffles through the pages of the modest book. And though she is already slightly bored with this topic, later she will sift and resift through the memory of this conversation for any tiny morsel she might have missed and thus might savor.
"Haskell keeps a clinic in East Cambridge," her father says. "He is offering his services at Ely Falls for the season, as he is replacing one of the staff physicians who is taking a leave." Her father clears his throat. "Haskell regards this as the most fortunate of circumstances, for not only will it allow him to remain close by while his own cottage is being constructed further down the beach, but he should be able to study first-hand the conditions that interest him so. And as for me, I also regard his visit as a fortunate circumstance, for I do enjoy the man's wit and company. I think you will be charmed by Catherine, who is Haskell's wife, as well as by the children."
"Am I to be a governess then?" Olympia asks, mostly in jest, but her father takes the question seriously and looks appalled.
"My dear, certainly not," he says. "The Haskells are our guests for the weekend only, after which Haskell shall stay on, as he has been doing at the Highland Hotel until their cottage is finished, which should be by the end of July. Catherine and the children will stay in York with her family until then. Heavens, Olympia, how could you have imagined I would exploit you in such a manner?"
Her father's study is dark, though the windows are open; and his books, which have been partially unpacked by Josiah, are already beginning to warp in the damp air. Each Monday throughout the summer, Josiah will place the books in tall stacks and weight these stacks with heavy irons to help return them, for a few hours, to their original shape and thickness.
Olympia moves about the room, touching various familiar objects that her father has collected through the years and keeps at Fortune's Rocks: a malachite paperweight from East Africa; a bejeweled cross her father purchased in Prague when he was nineteen; a stained ivory letter opener from Madagascar; the silver box that contained all of her mother's letters written when her father was in London for a year before they were married; and a stained-glass desk lamp fringed with amber crystals at the edges that once belonged to Olympia?s grandmother. Her father also collects shells, as a small boy might, and when they walk together at the beach, he is never without a container in which to put them. On his shelves are delicately-edged scallop shells, the darkly iridescent casings of lowly mussels, and encrusted white oyster shells. When her father smokes, he uses the shells for ashtrays.
He watches her move about his study.
"You enjoyed your first visit to the beach?" he asks her carefully.
She picks up the malachite paperweight. She is not certain she could describe her walk along the beach even if she wanted to.
"It was excellent, after so long a winter, to feel the sea and the sea air," she answers. But when she looks up at him, she sees that he has put on his spectacles in a mild gesture of dismissal.
From her father's study, she walks out onto the porch. She has the book her father gave her, but she is too distracted to open it. During the winter, she attained her full height, so that when she sits on a chair on the porch, she can now see over the railing and down the lawn, which needs cutting. A blossom she cannot identify is sending a luscious scent into the air, and that scent, combined with the sea, is creating an intoxicating and soporific cloud all about her.
She unfastens the top two buttons of her dress and fans her neck with the cloth. She takes off her hat and lays it down, whereupon it immediately skitters along the porch floor until it wedges itself on the bottom rung of the railing. She slips her hands under her dress and removes her stockings from her garters as she did earlier at the bathhouse before walking down to the sea. She rolls the stockings into a ball and sits on them, and then lifts the hem of her dress, which has now grown stiff from the seawater, to her knees. She stretches out her legs, startled by the whiteness of her skin, which she has hardly ever in her life given any thought to. The coolish moist breeze tickles the backs of her knees and the calves of her legs. She imagines the shocked faces of Josiah or her father or her mother were any of them to come around the corner and catch her in her dishabille; but she decides the exquisite pleasure of the air against her limbs worth the later mortgage of the consequences. She fixes her eyes upon that most peaceful of all horizon lines, the place where the sea meets the sky, where it appears that all movement has been suspended. And indeed, it seems that day that she herself hovers in a state of suspensionthat she is waiting for something she can hardly imagine and is only beginning to be prepared for.
Reading Group Guide
1. Is Olympia's innocence in the opening scene believable?
2. How did the absence of strong female role models affect Olympia's emotional development?
3. Olympia evolves into a passionate woman in a rigid society. Does her isolated upbringing as an only child who is home-schooled contribute to this? How?
4. How does Shreve foreshadow future events? Do these scenes help to explain Olympia's decisions later in the book?
5. Was Zachariah Coates's action justifiable? Was it purely malicious? Did he have ulterior motives?
6. "It seemed the most elemental gesture to take a child from a man," says Olympia (p. 441). Discuss the various instances in which Olympia takes a child from John's hands.
7. Olympia is a mature teenager, and she accepts responsibility for her situation. As a fifteen year-old, though, can she be blamed for the affair and the pregnancy?
8. If John was not married and a father of four children, would you feel differently about his relationship with Olympia? At the beginning, did he love Olympia, or just feel tremendous desire for her?
9. If you were in Olympia's shoes, could you have made the decision she made regarding her son? Was it the right decision for the child? For her?
10. Discuss the theme of possession. Olympia says that she never "possessed" either John (p. 208) or her son (p. 436). Is it ever possible for a person to possess another?
11. What issues are raised at the trial regarding class? Could these be raised in a court of law today? Are they valid?
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I have read many of Anita Shreve's books, and I like this one the most out of all of them. She writes so eloquently and descriptively (as always but especially in this book) that you feel like you are watching the whole scandal happen -almost like you're a bystander in the room. This novel is set in turn of the century New England. Shreve can write a beautiful novel in any era, but she really does an amazing job portraying the late 1800's and early 1900's. She writes so that you are able to really feel how each character feels. The story itself is scandalous, but full of love and passion. The novel has sad parts, however I think they make the novel more believable. I could not put the book down until the last page. I highly recommend this book. Note that Sea Glass is sort of a sequel to Fortune's Rocks -Sea Glass having the same setting in a later time period with different characters.
Shreve's books draw me in with their deep rich characters. I could not put this book down- undoubtly, one of my favorites.
Great book. Emotionally intense all the way through. Suspenseful. My third Shreve book; now I want to get all the others!!
I loved this book. I could not put it down and stayed up late into the night to read it. The story hooks you and draws you in and you want to know what happens next. I would definitely recommend this book to family and friends.
I randomly picked this book up, and absolutely could not put it down once I started to read it. I think I might go back to the beginning and read it all over again!
Despite any negative comments about the behavior of the characters in this book, I did really enjoy this read. I found it more captivating that Shreve’s The Pilot’s Wife. If I had to put a description to the type of captivation that was felt, I would say it was the train wreck sort. You see the tracks are damaged and you see the train coming at full speed, but you just can’t look away. Here comes Olympia and she’s going to crash hard. The book begins in 1900. I admire authors who can spin a story from an era in which they did not exist. Even though many things were perceived differently at that time (examples: when a girl becomes a woman, when a woman should marry, how much older can a gentleman be to still acceptably court a younger woman), you will find characters are still astonished about this relationship. After meeting the charming Dr. Haskell, the fifteen year old Olympia ‘falls madly in love’ with him as he does with her. The torrid love affair begins and before you know it they are copulating in his carriage, at his hotel room, in the marshes, in the unfinished cottage he is building for his wife and four children. Did I mention the good doctor is forty one years old? Yes, like most readers, this is where I found myself about to throw in the towel and say, “You have to be freaking kidding me.” And somehow these two are completely shocked about how hurt everyone (her parents, his wife, his in-laws, his children) is when they discover Haskell has been playing doctor with the teenager. Everyone packs their bags and leaves from what I’m sure would be the worst summer vacation in history. I admit that I held on because of the Train Wreck Scenario. You can’t look away when this is going down. I spent twenty minutes telling my cat, “I saw this coming.” As the book moves on from Olympia and Haskell’s affair, you follow as she tries to find some inner peace from her broken heart. At times, I wanted to high-five her and say, “Yeah, get your life back together!” Other times I wanted to jump in the pages and beat her with a frying pan because she was falling right back into a ridiculous rut. When I finished reading this book, I consulted with other reviews that have been posted. I have to disagree with readers who said the love affair was not plausible or “what man would cheat on his wife with a fifteen year old.” I’m sure it happens more than we would ever want to know about. Yes, I strongly disagree with infidelity and forty one year old men having intercourse with fifteen year old girls. And do I think the characters were truly in love? Probably not. To enjoy a book doesn’t mean that you have to agree with every circumstance of the plot. I don’t know about you, but I occasionally like a book that ruffles my feathers. An interesting fact I would like to mention before closing this review, Shreve has written four books that have taken place in the very same house. As I started reading Fortune’s Rocks, I noticed immediately that the summer cottage owned by Olympia’s family was the very same house that belonged to Kathryn in The Pilot’s Wife. They all take place at different periods in time. What an amazing idea! (Almost Stephen King-ish, dare I say?) I hope when I complete my You Bought It, You Read It Mission I can come back and read the other two books in that series.
Just re-read this book for the 4th time after first reading it about six years ago. This is on my keeper shelf along with Sea Glass, The Pilot's Wife, and Body Surfing in which the same house is featured. I love how the house itself becomes a character in the story as you learn more about its history. Anita Shreve is such a gifted storyteller. I find myself reading a line or a paragraph two or three times just to savor the words. From a present-day perspective, the relationship between a 15 (almost 16) year old girl and a 41 year old man can be extremely shocking, but such age gaps weren't uncommon back in that era, probably more so in Europe than in America. This is set at the turn of the last century towards the end of the Gilded Age when British aristocrats (some very aged) in dire need of money married young American heiresses . While that isn’t the case in this story, I kept that in mind while reading of Olympia and Haskell’s developing relationship. Their love scenes are written in a tasteful, but still emotionally gripping way. You will put aside any squeamishness about the age difference and find yourself rooting for them, hoping that their real love for each other will keep them strong in the face of the tragedy and sorrow that results from their adultery.
One of Anita Shreve's best ever! Enjoyed it from beginning to end and didn't want it to end. Loved the era, storyline and everything about it.
I love this book. I have to re read it over and over every year because it gives hope that a true love you have lost can come back someday....
Make it into a movie. I pictured who would play the characters. Excellent book.
This book made me think, made me cry, and entertained me. I suggested it to many. They all agree. I hope Ms. Shreve, writes many more future classics like this;it is destined to be a classic of our generation.
This is one of the finest novels I have ever read. I recently read the Pilot's Wife and The Weight of Water, and I enjoyed them both very much. But, I'd have to say that Fortune's Rock's, which I've just finished, is my favorite Shreve novel thus far. Shreve's writing style is so sensually descriptive, in every sense (pun intended). Her writing in the present tense serves well as a means of allowing such descriptions and many moments to linger in the mind and senses, in a poetic way, often with vivid reality. A few pages into the book I was gripped with interest and I soon knew that this story would hold a special place in my heart. I never wanted to put it down. I felt that I really cared what happened to the protagonist characters. I found myself hungry to read this book in my leisure time, anxious to know the outcome of the child custody case, what had and would become of Haskell, and what would become of Olympia in the end. Yet as eager as I was to know the end, I wished not to be parted from the company of the characters (very tangible), their lives and the setting of the story. This is a story about love and desire (in many forms), secrets, pain, tragedy, forgiveness, morality, social and personal responsibility, triumph, and life purpose. I had borrowed this book from a library, but I plan to purchase it as well, to include it in my own personal library, as I consider it a literary journey to be treasured.
Olympia is the daughter of a book publisher and the story takes place at the turn of the last century about 1896. Olympia is well read, well bred and well mannered but just a little too precocious for the 15 year old she is. She has been home schooled by her father and is instructed to read the books of authors her father publishes. She entertains the authors children but is infatuated with the author and soon initiates and engages in a clandestine laison with him. The scandalous affair is exposed on her 16th birthday before her lovers wife and Olympia's family members and friends. She is exiled by her father to a home for troubled girls where her life becomes a drudgery and hardship. She is to give up the baby she has conceived while involved with this author. Needless to say, times haven't changed so much in the world except there is more acceptance and openess involving unwanted pregnancies at the turn of this century. Olympia wants to keep the child and is drugged during the delivery of the baby. The baby has been spirited away for adoption against Olympia's wishes. She is determined to find the child and reclaim her baby. She is at odds with her father and family and chooses to return to the summer home where it all began to begin a new life and search for the lost baby. The book reminds me of something Louisa May Alcott would write or a Jane Austin Novel. I enjoyed the book. What will the world be like in another 100 years?
This book will leave a piece of Fortune's Rock in your soul. Anita Shreve gives depth and understanding to what critics entitle 'May/December' romances. Such relationships, as Shreve as so wonderfully developed, are relationships of the soul and of irresistible fire. These characters are some of the most vivid characters in fiction today. A MUST READ!
This is the classic good read: a book you can't put down, but don't ever want to end. I was entranced with Olympia Biddeford and impressed by the author who produced her. I wouldn't change a word!
Some may see this as "Chick Fiction" but I thought it was quite outstanding. Great characters and while Haskell was perhaps somewhat weak, it was a great love story!
Another very good read from Anita Shreve. She always delivers a story that makes you think about society in different ways. The question of morality is prevalent and the judgment by "society" of what is appropriate and what is not. Obvious "sins" are not considered as such and the victims are usually the innocent. I always look forward to reading Shreve's books for her ability make me think about an issue or situation.
While it started off a bit slow for me, by the end I was so thoroughly involved in the tale I wanted another hundred pages or so. Shreve's tale of forbidden love and its consequences was so touchingly rendered I found myself nearly weeping through portions of it. Shreve managed to make me experience many different emotions throughout this novel from outrage to distress to empathy she played my heartstrings like the maestro she is.
Open the pages of Fortune¿s Rocks by Anita Shreve and you¿ll think you¿ve stepped into the world of Edith Wharton, Kate Chopin or any number of other turn-of-the-century women writers whose novels were set in refined, confining Victorian society.Do not be fooled for an instant. Shreve¿s novel is a pale imitation of those Grande Dames of Literature.Oh sure, Fortune¿s Rocks¿much like Wharton¿s The Age of Innocence¿is filled with scenes that would startle modern readers with their conservatism. An exposed ankle in 1899 was akin to Julia Roberts flinging off her clothes and running out on the 50-yard line during the Super Bowl. It was just not good manners. Turn-of-the-century society was polite, discreet and above all sexless. At least on the surface. But beneath the corsets, my how those bosoms heaved with passion!Edith Wharton certainly knew how to capture all that restrained eroticism. Kate Chopin (in The Awakening) founded a literary reputation with her tale of unbridled sexuality. And now, nearly a century later, Anita Shreve (author of The Pilot¿s Wife) tries to follow in their buttoned-up bootsteps.She fails miserably.Fortune¿s Rocks has all the appearance of a Wharton wannabe with scenes of oh-so-proper dinner parties, an independent-spirited heroine and a foul set of circumstances that would do Charles Dickens proud. What Shreve doesn¿t realize is that there is no longer a market for this type of narrative. One of the reasons I find Wharton so engaging is because I knew she was trying to write her way out of the very culture she was describing. Novels like The Age of Innocence and Summer are good precisely because they are like time capsules of early 19th-century New York with all of its stiff, upper-class prejudices. Not to mention the fact that Wharton¿s prose has a depth that resonates off the page.By comparison, Shreve is splashing around in the shallow end of the wading pool.To be fair, Shreve does show she¿s done a lot of research into the manners and customs of the era. Her descriptions of dinner parties and afternoon teas and sensuous strolls along the beach are complete to the nth degree. They¿re also very dull.Fortune¿s Rocks starts on what seems to be a promising first sentence:"In the time it takes for her to walk from the bathhouse at the seawall of Fortune¿s Rocks, where she has left her boots and has discreetly pulled off her stockings, to the waterline along which the sea continually licks the pink and silver sand, she learns about desire. Desire that slows the breath, that causes a preoccupied pause in the midst of uttering a sentence, that focuses the gaze absolutely on the progress of naked feet walking toward the water."Ladies and gentlemen, meet Olympia Biddeford. She¿s fifteen years old and, as she walks along the New Hampshire beach, "she has passed from being a girl, with a child¿s pent-up and nearly frenzied need to sweep away the rooms and cobwebs of her winter, to being a woman."Now, if you¿ve enjoyed those two brief passages I¿ve quoted, then I suggest you stop reading right now and go buy yourself a copy of this bodice-ripper. If, however, those cucumber sandwiches you ate at the ladies¿ society tea are starting to rise in your gorge, then you¿ll know what I mean when I say there is nothing to recommend this book.The story, which at times reads like a feminized Lolita, tells how Olympia discovers her womanhood (at fifteen!) by seducing a married man twenty-six years her senior. The resulting adulterous scandal brings plenty of misfortune to those who live at Fortune¿s Rocks, the seaside resort where Olympia lives. The rest of the novel is too maudlin for words. Suffice to say, there¿s plenty of back-of-the-hand-to-the-forehead scenes and long stretches of stilted dialogue. For good measure¿just to wake us from our torpor, I suppose¿Shreve throws in a couple of grittily-detailed childbirth scenes which read like a cross between ER and a midwife¿s handbook.The whole book is written in a faux Vi
A young woman at the turn of the century, on a rocky beach in New Hampshire, starts her disastrous passage to love and adulthood. She needs to come to terms with herself and reinvent her broken life. A look at the erotic life of women and class prejudices during this time period.
Cheesy, trite, dumbed-down writing. Had the book sitting at my house for years before reading it because I knew it would be fluffy and mindless, and not in a good way...Historically and culturally inacurate, tries to make issues about classs and gender that make the plot even dumber that it would'v e been without. The characters were so two-dimesional, they make Agatha Christie's look well developed....
Shreve tells a compelling story about forbidden love, and about the shame and dishonour levelled at a young woman who gives birth to a child out of wedlock in 1899. It was interesting to observe the Christian-driven, absolute moral indignation of society over childbirth out of wedlock while, simultaneously, it turned a blind eye to horrendous child poverty, abuse, and labour.
I love anita shreve as an author. I have not been disappointed with any off her books.
Sllllooooowwwwow to start then way too quick in parts. I couldn't get into this love story at all, I just didn't buy it and I found it Disturbing. O. FINALLY makes a good decision towards the end of the book. However, I couldn't put it down because I needed to know what happened. I really liked the ending but a little too clean. We an all imagine wonderful things for all of them and I'm not sure we should.
Similar to Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov both novels had the same theme of forbidden love, 15 years old girl who falls for a 40 years old educated man, the only difference was Lolita was based on desperate domination, obsession and self destruction while Fortune¿s Rocks was more of a love/tragic story with a different ending. Although both novels were well written i was more satisfied with Fortune¿s Rocks, with Lolita i had this love/hate feelings but i did enjoy reading them both. In Fortune¿s Rock the writer beautifully describes the scenes set in the 1900¿s, Olympia character was well developed and lovable i truly felt for her however i wish Dr John Haskell¿s showed more of his personality there was no depth in his character but you still do see the soft and emotional side of him. Overall it was an enjoyable reading experience.