A Gate at the Stairs
Ratings9
Average rating3.1
Though she mostly writes short fiction, Lorrie Moore is one of the greatest living writers I've come across. This might be her best work, though I'm also partial to “Anagrams.”
Like the rest of Moore's work, you'll find quirky characters, a sharp wit, and excellent prose. Tassie is an endearing character even though she is awkward, introverted, and often says the wrong thing. Actually, that's part of her charm.
The novel hits on a number of hot-button topics, including racism, mortality, government bureaucracy, and adoption, but because Tassie is so innocent and charming, seeing these issues through her eyes allows the novel to explore those topics without getting too dark or pedantic.
Some people find Moore's writing a bit pretentious, but this is way more grounded than something like “Anagrams.” Moore's strength is in creating characters we want to spend time with and describing the mundane in ways that instill a sense of beauty. At times heartbreaking, at other times hilarious, I recommend this to anyone who is into character-based fiction or appreciates artistic prose.
Chapter One did not impress me. I set it aside for several days only to pick it back up after seeing it on fifty recommended reads lists of 2009. Okay, let me give it another chance.
Glad I did. The story is a thoughtful one. Parenting. Caring for others. Coming of age. Atonement. Loss. Carelessness. Lots to think about here.
I loved the story, but I loved, more than that even, how much Moore enjoyed word play. All her characters, even the most dour, can't seem to help themselves, throwing a pun or a crazy story about words in their conversations. I must have read some paragraphs three or four times, loving the way Moore decorates her tale.
What an odd little book this was! It was beautifully written and kept my attention throughout, but the plot was weak and the characters not really likable or interesting, yet, I still enjoyed it. So take that for what it is worth!
‰ЫПI didn‰ЫЄt know whether this was interesting ‰ЫУ that we were both thinking the same gruesome thing ‰ЫУ or even whether it was actually the case. Perhaps it was just rhetorical ESP: Kreskin‰ЫЄs Guide to Etiquette. But even if it was true, that we were about to say the same thing, did this connect us in some deep, private way? Or was it just a random obviousness shared between strangers? The deeper life between two people I had yet to read with confidence. It seemed a kind of vaporous text that kept revising its very alphabet.‰Ыќ
‰ЫПI was like every kid who had grown up in the country, allowing the weather ‰ЫУ good or bad ‰ЫУ to describe life for me: its mocking, its magic, its contradictions, its moody grip. Why not? One was helpless before everything.‰Ыќ