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“In one of the myriad how-to books about writing that I've read, a writer said that no one in his right mind would set a book in suburbia if he expected to sell it. Of course, there was always room for exception, this writer noted. But normally, he went on, books about suburbia are dull books set against dull landscapes with dull characters. He noted that too many authors are already writing dull books about small towns and the American dream; the writer who wants to distinguish herself will avoid subdivisions and strip malls as if they were black holes from which no creativity can emerge.
In Richard Russo's Bridge of Sighs, however, a "dull" landscape, "dull" characters, and a "dull" plot paradoxically come together in a complex, dynamic way that's fraught with underlying tension. The main conflict is in the very dullness of the character's ordinary lives--in fact, fear of passion, of feeling, is a major leitmotif of the novel. Characters move through the novel feeling deeply, but trying desperately to disengage.
At any given moment, two stories operate here: what is happening superficially and what is actually happening. Between these two layers is where the tension of the novel lies--as if the book's singular story were like the many, shifting layers that make up the earth: outer core, inner core, mantle, and crust. The friction between each layer is heat, conflict, tension.
Okay. Enough extended metaphor. Russo achieves a quiet tension--that much is obvious. But how? Characters who are outwardly dull are inwardly conflicted. A town that is outwardly dull is secretly self-destructing. A love story that is rather mundane and passionless disguises other, less convenient passions.
What a lovely morning to finish the novel. The air is cold at last. The wind is crazy and wild. My dull little town is bright and exuberant. And now it's time for me to go the library and get another book.
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LisaDale wrote this review Saturday, October 13 2007.
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