- 7,99 €
Description de l’éditeur
Harriet Scott Chessman’s Ohio Angels is an intimate and a lyrical story about friendship and family struggles. Hallie, a painter who now lives in Brooklyn, returns to her family home in Ohio, where she unearths a secret about her parents. Her discovery sheds light on her mother’s depression, which shadowed her own childhood, and helps her understand her own inability to have children. In her hometown, Hallie reconnects with a beloved childhood friend, Rose, who is now a writer and pregnant with her third child.
Chessman beautifully evokes the childhood memories of the two friends, illuminating their very different lives. As in Lydia Cassatt Reading the Morning Paper, Chessman’s compassionate and perceptive gaze reveals an entire new world for us—one that is subtle, alive, and deeply honest.
Chessman's second novel is a lyrical but rather glum and shapeless examination of the secrets and traumas of two suburban families. Hallie, an insecure painter living with her architect husband in Brooklyn, returns to her parents' home for a visit. She is concerned about her mother, Virginia, who has been "low" for as long as she can remember, but who now refuses to leave her bed. Her father, Charles, a doctor, tries to make the best of things, despite the haze of inertia and casual cruelty that hangs over the marriage. (Virginia at one point wonders, "Why should I open my eyes, when I know precisely what he will look like?") Hallie's childhood friend Rose, "would-be writer, plump woman, plumped down in the middle of the slow state of Ohio," is the matriarch of a chaotic but loving household. Redheaded and pregnant with her third child, she is the antithesis of wan Hallie, who, after five miscarriages, has given up on motherhood. Nevertheless, the two reconnect and share memories some idyllic, some sinister of their childhood together and of their respective families. When Virginia takes an overdose of sleeping pills, Hallie inadvertently discovers the source of her mother's depression. Chessman (Lydia Cassatt Reading the Morning Paper) is adept at setting a mood, but she too often allows her lyricism to lapse into preciousness, and for every beautiful image, there is a dull, superfluous one waiting to nullify it. By novel's end, plot and characters alike are all but lost in a stew of flashbacks and dreams.