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Grief, by Andrew Holleran
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Now in paperback, the universally acclaimed novel about loss and yearning Reeling from the recent death of his invalid mother, an exhausted, lonely professor comes to our nation's capital to escape his previous life. What he finds there--in his handsome, solitary landlord; in the city's somber mood and sepulchral architecture; and in the strange and impassioned journals of Mary Todd Lincoln--shows him unexpected truths about America and loss.
- Sales Rank: #712614 in Books
- Brand: Hyperion
- Published on: 2007-06-05
- Released on: 2007-06-05
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 8.00" h x .0" w x 5.63" l,
- Binding: Paperback
- 160 pages
Features
From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. An understated, eloquent novel by Holleran (Dancer from the Dance) captures the pain of a generation of gay men who have survived the AIDS epidemic and reached middle age yearning for fidelity, tenderness and intimacy. The unnamed, silver-haired narrator has just relocated from Florida, where he cared for his recently deceased mother for the last 12 years, to Washington, D.C., to "start life over" and teach a college seminar on literature and AIDS. He rents a room in a townhouse near Dupont Circle, his solitude deepened by his awareness that he and his gay, celibate landlord, a "homosexual emeritus," form only a semblance of a household. The narrator spends his days exploring the streets of the capital and his nights engrossed in the letters of Mary Todd Lincoln, who held onto her grief and guilt at her husband's death much like the narrator hordes his guilt for never having come out of the closet to his mother—and for having survived the 1980s and '90s. Holleran makes his coiled reticence speak volumes on attachment, aging, sex and love in small scenes as compelling as they are heartbreaking. Visiting with his friend Frank, whose willful pragmatism throws the narrator's mourning in sharp relief, prove especially revealing. Frank manages to have a steady boyfriend, while for the narrator, his landlord and most of their friends, love and partnership seem impossibly intimate. Until its terse, piercing conclusion, Holleran's elegiac narrative possesses its power in the unsaid. (June)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
From Bookmarks Magazine
In his fifth work of fiction, Andrew Holleran, author of the widely praised Dancer from the Dance (1978), explores the complex issues surrounding grief while offering multifaceted impressions of Washington, D.C. Critics praised Holleran's lyrical writing, his subtle and flavorful characterizations, and the beauty of his observations—especially in his evocations of the city. Several admired Holleran's refusal to deal with grief in simplistic terms. John Freeman carped that the novel was a "talky piece of fiction" in which "dialogue nudges the narrative along." But even he admitted that "the languorous beauty of Holleran's observations gives the book bottom and weight." Most critics agree with Michael Upchurch that "this brief, quiet novel may be [Holleran's] best yet."
Copyright © 2004 Phillips & Nelson Media, Inc.
From Booklist
*Starred Review* A pensive, creative, and haunting novel that speaks expressly to the heart without sentimentality, by the author of Dancer from the Dance (1978), an important novel from the 1970s-'80s gay-lit renaissance. The title of Holleran's new novel states its theme. He offers the story of a middle-aged gay man heading to Washington, D.C., to live and teach for a short term, to get away from his hometown after his mother's death. He takes a room in an elegant townhouse owned by another middle-aged gay man, who is slowly and quietly grieving over the loss of youthful energy, attractiveness, and prowess. While living in Washington and commiserating with his landlord and the friend they have in common over the loss of lives the tsunami of AIDS caused in the '80s, he rather accidentally picks up a volume containing the letters of Mary Todd Lincoln, and he is taken by her grief and sense of displacement after her husband's death and ends up reading every page. His plan, however, especially in coming to Washington, is to start life over again, which Mrs. Lincoln was never able to do--her grief and loneliness became a deep well from which she couldn't escape. Holleran's "message"--that grief is never avoidable for any of us--is so sensitively rendered that it never impedes the swift development of the story line. Brad Hooper
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
Most helpful customer reviews
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
A Slight, Easy Read
By Ken Howard
This is a nice, somewhat sad little book with no real emotional power. Someone has compared Holleran to Hemingway and Fitzgerald and I would say that comparison is way way off. It's an easy read and a somewhat engaging story. The fact that it is about gay characters, and gay men getting older, makes it resonate with a particular group of readers, both straight and gay, as it does with me. But it is not a read of exceptional depth or insight. And not one that explores the subject any more effectively than many others. There is much much more engaging gay literature out there.
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
Living with the dead in a city of ghosts
By D. Cloyce Smith
In Andrew Holleran's "Grief"--a book that will, I think, be eventually regarded as his masterpiece--there are passages that seem pulled from a Jamesian ghost story. Slim yet fully realized, the novel is set in a tranquil, atmospheric District of Columbia that may as well be a ghost town, a landscape similar to the city eerily described in Gore Vidal's short story "A Moment of Green Laurel." And like Vidal's protagonist, the unnamed narrator of "Grief" is haunted by the specter of his mother, while the urban isolation is deepened by memories of a generation lost to AIDS and even by the century-old spirits of famous Americans.
Far from being a gloomy read, however, Holleran's novel is infused with wit and erudition; it is instead an almost celebratory ode to mourning--and to our nation's capital. The story's central character has come to Washington ostensibly to teach a course on Literature and AIDS but actually to learn to live again both outside the confines of a closeted existence and without the decade-long presence of his mother's debilitating illness.
But, even removed from his home, he can't escape death. He becomes entranced with a book of letters by Mary Todd Lincoln, describing her desolation after her husband's assassination; he recalls Henry Adams's devastating numbness after his wife had killed herself when her father died; he tours museums in a city whose "grandeur is mostly indebted to the Civil War"; he visits the mother of a dead friend ("When one needed a mother, anyone's would do"); and he steadfastly avoids any possibility of intimacy with his fellow survivors of an earlier era. His closest companion is his landlord's dog when the man is away at work.
Every mourner in the novel experiences grief as remorse, as guilt, as regret. ("It was the sense of guilt that made it so important. Otherwise one didn't grieve for death," as Graham Greene puts it in "The Heart of the Matter.") Bereavement becomes not only longing for the presence of lost ones but also lamenting the lost opportunities when they were still alive: "I killed my mother with my secret and my shame. I killed her with banality," Holleran's narrator moans.
To such wallowing sentiment--to the suspicion that "life's rotten"--the landlord exclaims, "We have an obligation to live in the present--to be happy now!" Only Frank (a friend whose outlook, equal parts sardonic camp and weary cynicism, keeps the book's glumness firmly in check) understands that such an obligation is "more easily honored in the breach than the observance." Still, in the end, the ever-present possibility of hope and the ever-intruding presence of the living make that obligation easier to observe with the healing passage of time. After death, there is always life.
9 of 9 people found the following review helpful.
A gorgeous thing, this book
By Chuck Wilson
Few writers have meant more to me than Andrew Holleran but I'd understand if what you thought while reading his new novel is that this Holleran guy really needs to get laid. His relentless acquiescence to solitude can be maddening. That's always been the case---on the page at least, he comes across as a man who nurtures his losses more than one should, and a man terrified of romantic intimacy, and yet, there is, at the exact same time, a breathtaking purity to his melancholy. And let's face it (he has)---not all gay men end up with a "partner", and a house to refurbish, and an adopted child in the back seat. And for those like Holleran (and Larry Kramer), who came of age in the heyday of '70s gay New York, only to lose 4 out of 5 of their friends to AIDS, in what must have felt like the blink of an eye, perpetual grief may be the only rational, truly human response. In this novella, "Grief", which seems to me as essential and indelible a book as Isherwood's "A Single Man", Holleran walks and walks around Washington D.C., as he once walked round his parent's Florida town, observing the life around him and wondering if and when and how he should re-enter its flow. (As you order "Grief", you really should order too a used copy of his magnificent but sadly out-of-print essay collection, "Ground Zero".) Holleran's cursed with the gift for observation, which may mean that he'll always be walking alone down those streets, but we're lucky that he keeps sending back these reports, much of which, it's worth noting, is quite funny. I've been reading this book aloud and emailing passages to friends for two days now. His voice fills my head and calms my addled heart. I wish he still wrote his monthly column because I think he might just be our Thoreau.
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