Margin Scrawls

I like to annotate books as I read. Highlighting with underlines, asterisks, and margin notes.

The exquisite sentence.

The sparkling section of dialogue.

The repeated motif or developing theme.

The stunning twist of plot.

The use of an unexpected simile.

The early mention of a possible ‘Chekhov’s gun’ – though it may come in the form of a crossbow, knife, or paperweight.

It’s an interesting paradox that in the act of scribbling the reading experience is enhanced, perhaps through greater comprehension?

I get the sense of being more immersed in the writing. Attuned to its nuances.

The reward of making annotations, months or years later, is picking up a novel and re-discovering the moments that moved me.

Because of these invaluable hieroglyphic markings, I don’t lend out my books.

Borrowers might judge that I have defaced the books. Vandalised the sanctity of the page.

For me, though, I have left a bread-crumb trail of precious gems.

Lead us, willingly, into temptation.

It was only ever going to end in tears.

Belfast, 1975, a city torn apart by the turbulence of the ‘Troubles’. A young Catholic woman meets an older married man. A protestant. What could possibly go wrong?

Louise Kennedy’s 2022 novel, Trespasses, is a beautiful, moving, and compelling account of a love affair set in desperate times. The central character of the story is twenty-four-year-old school teacher, Cushla Lavery. Her name derived from the Irish phrase: A chuisle mo chroi, ‘the pulse of my heart’ – and the reader is held close to Cushla’s heart throughout the telling.

Cushla begins an affair with Michael Agnew, a roguishly charming barrister. He’s ‘fifty-odd’ and, despite being protestant, defends young Catholic men arrested on the wrong side of the judicial system. I sensed the constant claustrophobic atmosphere that prevailed around the two lovers; the sheer weight of the divisive religious environment making every encounter seem like an exercise in risk. Yet, the very idea of love existing in such a hostile world seemed worthy and converted me, as a reader, behind their cause. Dangerous, though the very idea of their liaison may have been, still its urgency compels the story. The reader is dragged willingly down the path to temptation as one might be walk headlong across a minefield.

Here follow some excerpts showing how Louise Kennedy reveals the unfolding love affair between Cushla and Michael. The first time they meet is when Cushla, working part time in the pub her family owns, serves Michael a drink.

She put the whiskey on the counter. Cushla, isn’t it. I’m Michael. Would you like one yourself? he said, closing his fingers around the tumbler. The room looked better with him in it.

*

In her room, Cushla laid out the clothes to wear to work in the morning. A-line plaid skirt, navy lambswool jumper, grey blouse. Like a school uniform. She had never given much thought to how she looked behind the bar, throwing on clothes she didn’t mind spattering with bleach, tying her hair up to keep it from her eyes. Not until now.

*

I’ll adjust it, he was saying. He reached down beside her and released a lever that made the seat roll back. The skin on her calf prickled at the nearness of his hand.

*

I won’t always be able to get away.

But sometimes you will.

Yes.

OK, she said, because it was all he was offering.

*

He pulled her inside and shut the door with his foot. His eyes were glassy. It’s yourself, he said, kissing her full on the mouth. You look good. It’s the dress you wore in the Lyric.

He was wearing a black polo neck under a houndstooth sports jacket. So do you, she said. Like a Malone Road James Bond. Or your man from the Milk Tray ad.

*

Her gut burned with want. That she might away from her family, her mother, and be with this man.

*

Michael finished his drink and looked hard at Cushla, raising an eyebrow in the direction of the door. She took a dustpan and brush from under the sink and went outside, him a step behind her.

*

I love you, he said.

She left a kiss on his neck. You’d better, Agnew.

*

I very much looked forward to coming back to this book, wanting to know how Cushla and Michael were faring. Wondering how they’d navigate the violence brimming around them. Worrying for them. Caring and hoping for them. For they were just two lovers, after all. And as Cole Porter sang, The world will always welcome lovers. The measure of a good read is the sadness you feel when it’s over – putting Trespasses down I was left quite devastated.

I look forward, now, to reading more of Louise Kennedy.

Giving the mundane its beautiful due.

John Updike's Rabbit quartet.

In 1961 John Updike wrote the novel Rabbit, Run – it was conceived and written as a stand-alone story. Three decades and three sequels later, the Rabbit series, a tetralogy, has been hailed by English author, Julian Barnes, as “the greatest postwar American novel.” The novels’ protagonist, Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom, a man-child and former sports star, is just twenty-six and already past his glory days as he zigzags his way on an ever-hopeful quest for the rainbow of happiness. In the first novel, Rabbit, acting on impulse, deserts his wife and son. Harry, we quickly realise, is no angel. He’s confused, prejudiced, disloyal, slobby, ruthless, careless, egocentric, puzzled, and patriotic – and yet – the reader connects with him on the page as human. We understand and empathise with this ordinary man troubled by his foibles as he tries to come to terms with the rapidly changing landscape of American life (over four turbulent decades). In Updike’s words: “My intention was never to make him – or any character – lovable.”

The blurbs on the back of each novel set the scene and timeframe:

Rabbit,Run: “It’s 1959, and Harry ‘Rabbit’ Angstrom, one-time high-school sports superstar is going nowhere.”

Rabbit Redux: “It’s 1969, and the times are changing…Things just aren’t as simple as they used to be – at least, not for Rabbit Angstrom.”

Rabbit is Rich: “It’s 1979, and Rabbit is no longer running. He’s walking, and beginning to get out of breath. That’s OK, though – it gives him the chance to enjoy the wealth that comes with middle age.”

Rabbit at Rest: “It’s 1989, and Harry ‘Rabbit’ Angstrom is far from restful. Fifty-six and overweight, he has a struggling business on his hands and a heart that is starting to fail.”

Updike never planned to write this as a series, but in 1970, a decade and several novels after Rabbit, Run, he found himself in debt to a publisher for a novel – with no goods to provide. Meanwhile, people had been asking what happened to Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom. And so, on February 7, 1970, Updike began writing a sequel and the first draft was completed on December 11. “A problem for the author of sequels,” he said, “is how much of the previous books to carry along.” This is managed with deft skill as characters are sufficiently referenced in subsequent stories to remind the reader of past events.

Each novel is set at the dying of a decade – with Harry confronting external influences and pressures that continually challenge our prevaricating protagonist. Historical markers are detailed to help orient the reader to the particular setting in time. Rabbit, Run (written in 1960) makes minimal cultural and political references with occasional news items on the car radio and a mention of the Dalai Lama’s disappearance from Tibet. Rabbit Redux (written in 1971) is framed against a backdrop of racial tension, the civil rights movement, the Apollo trip to the moon, and the Vietnam war. Written in 1981, Rabbit is Rich, witnesses the decay of American industry and, subsequently, Japan’s automotive efficiency replacing Detroit’s gas-guzzlers. Meanwhile, Harry and his wife, being financially comfortable, now have a summer condo in Florida. In Rabbit at Rest (written in 1990) the world confronts the Aids plague, terrorism manifests itself in jets being hijacked and Reagan’s presidency rolls into that of the first George Bush. As each decade turns over, Harry has to face the inexorable reality of his own decline and impending death – the recurring sense of doom hovers, particularly, throughout the last novel.

Some have labelled John Updike’s writing as ‘conspicuously autobiographical.’ Perhaps, in an effort to refute this claim or distance himself from the character of Rabbit, John Updike had this to say about Harry Angstrom: “Rabbit, like every stimulating alter ego, was many things the author was not: a natural athlete, a blue-eyed Swede, sexually magnetic, taller than six feet, impulsive and urban.”

When I put down Rabbit at Rest, the last instalment in the Rabbit quartet, I was struck by the breadth of Updike’s achievement – a mesmerising dissection of life in ordinary America between the 1950’s and 1990’s. As for the ordinary, the author was always very clear on his intent: “giving the mundane its beautiful due.”