Showing posts with label author. Show all posts
Showing posts with label author. Show all posts

26.7.23

Exploring Choices and Consequences: A Review of Lionel Shriver's 'The Post-Birthday World'

Do you know what happens when you go and organize your computer’s unorganized files — a book review you forgot to publish in 2012. But I really do love Lionel Shriver — so here’s to her fantastic novel — The Post-Birthday World.

Lionel Shriver’s novel, ‘The Post-Birthday World’, introduces readers to the life of Irina McGovern, a children’s book author, and illustrator residing in London. An expatriate from America, Irina lives with her intelligent and considerate husband, Lawrence Trainer, who is employed at a prominent think tank. The novel portrays Irina’s seemingly blissful existence with Lawrence and delves into two intriguing yet diverging narratives.

Irina remains steadfastly committed to her marriage in one narrative, while the other embarks on a path filled with illicit romance with Ramsey Acton, a celebrated snooker player. The novel's structure is ingeniously designed, oscillating between two parallel plotlines after the first chapter. Shriver ingeniously uses this technique to depict the duality of choices and their subsequent consequences, a feat that adds a captivating layer to the narrative.

A key incident serves as the catalyst for this dual narrative structure. During an annual dinner with Jude, Irina’s friend, and Ramsey’s former wife, an opportunity presents itself as a possible kiss with Ramsey. What transpires afterward is determined by two possible reactions - either she succumbs to the temptation while her husband Lawrence is away, or she resists it. The narrative splits here, henceforth offering two separate chapters for each version of the events.

17.2.08

Poem: "favor"

when you open your mouth it sounds like you’re going to say something horrible,
but instead, what comes out
is less worse than its preface:
your face all in a contorted mass,
because you are half-afraid what you’re going to say
will be muddled
and
the efficacy of your hold will be lost.

so you do that preface thing

again

with your face:

pull out your hands to the corners of the room,
your mouth opening to the scale of an italian frescoe,

downsizing your chin a bit —
almost wanting to be interrupted —
so that I can perhaps fill in the void for you

“i need you to take him to the doctor’s”

“i can’t find anyone else”

and it wouldn’t matter so much that he is asking for my time —
I have lots to give,
plenty of deferrals to stave off the tedium of whatever you want to call it

but it is in the tenacity of his stare,
the half-gaping mouth
and the reluctance to just come out and say it
that fuckin’ stuns me