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A review by kunleidoscope
My Face in the Light by Martha Schabas
hopeful
reflective
slow-paced
3.75
a quietly moving narrative about Justine Weiss, a thirtysomething esteemed actress who is weary of the pretence around her career and her marriage. she flees her home in Toronto, Canada to embark on a meaning-searching journey in London, England. in the periphery is her estranged relationship with her mother - an artist of impulsive nature, and the irrevocable scar on her forehead as remnant from a childhood accident.
the novel felt somewhere between a fictional narrative and a compilation of reflective entries. and, as what some critics may say: nothing really happens throughout the book. a lot of what i thought would hold a profound significance in the novel never really ended up having the clear resolution that i had anticipated. initially it did strike me as somewhat disappointing, but upon pondering i realized that this is precisely makes this novel electrifying. it captures so much similarity with how reality actually unfolds: a myriad of small mysteries that we attempt to search the meaning for despite not quite arriving at clarity, always brimming with the the most ordinary epiphanies and the most breathtaking moments among mundanity.
we have been advised against judging a book by its cover but the aura of this book is almost perfectly captured by the pastel watercolour wash of the cover design. the narrative echoed the subtle hopefulness of daylight, underlined with the tranquility that emerges after a chaotic night.
the entire book was filled with breathtaking prose. each scene is embellished with rich details and thus pulses with vividness. you come home to the most intimate thoughts of the protagonist and you experience her internal turmoil and revelations as though they were your own - in all her loves and fears, confusions and clarity, hesitation and impulses, pretence and confessions - and under a certain light her experiences refract into your own. an example: "and in that moment, i could have choked on the fear of my inadequacy -- the premonition that my life would consist of half loves and false passions, and that i was doomed to watch people the way i was watching Rachel now: a curious observer of other people's desires but never quite sure how to plant the seeds of my own."
finally, a character from the novel said: "and i started wondering if that's actually why art is beautiful to me. it makes me recognize some feeling or idea i always suspected existed but can't prove. the art had to prove it for me." and this describes precisely what i felt about Schabas's writing, and why i found this book to be beautiful. (less) [edit]
the novel felt somewhere between a fictional narrative and a compilation of reflective entries. and, as what some critics may say: nothing really happens throughout the book. a lot of what i thought would hold a profound significance in the novel never really ended up having the clear resolution that i had anticipated. initially it did strike me as somewhat disappointing, but upon pondering i realized that this is precisely makes this novel electrifying. it captures so much similarity with how reality actually unfolds: a myriad of small mysteries that we attempt to search the meaning for despite not quite arriving at clarity, always brimming with the the most ordinary epiphanies and the most breathtaking moments among mundanity.
we have been advised against judging a book by its cover but the aura of this book is almost perfectly captured by the pastel watercolour wash of the cover design. the narrative echoed the subtle hopefulness of daylight, underlined with the tranquility that emerges after a chaotic night.
the entire book was filled with breathtaking prose. each scene is embellished with rich details and thus pulses with vividness. you come home to the most intimate thoughts of the protagonist and you experience her internal turmoil and revelations as though they were your own - in all her loves and fears, confusions and clarity, hesitation and impulses, pretence and confessions - and under a certain light her experiences refract into your own. an example: "and in that moment, i could have choked on the fear of my inadequacy -- the premonition that my life would consist of half loves and false passions, and that i was doomed to watch people the way i was watching Rachel now: a curious observer of other people's desires but never quite sure how to plant the seeds of my own."
finally, a character from the novel said: "and i started wondering if that's actually why art is beautiful to me. it makes me recognize some feeling or idea i always suspected existed but can't prove. the art had to prove it for me." and this describes precisely what i felt about Schabas's writing, and why i found this book to be beautiful. (less) [edit]