I thought this book was going to be a light-hearted romp through the English countryside with an eccentrically, uptight older man, perhaps along the lines of Major Pettigrew's Last Stand.
Look at the rather whimsical cover. Consider the intriguing title. And take a look at Joyce's simple, straight-forward prose.
The letter that would change everything arrived on a Tuesday. It was an ordinary morning in mid-April that smelled of clean washing and grass cuttings. Harold Fry sat at the breakfast table, freshly shaved, in a clean shirt and tie, with a slice of toast that he wasn't eating. He gazed beyond the kitchen window at the clipped lawn, which was spiked in the middle by Maureen's telescopic washing line, and trapped on all three sides by the neighbors' stockade fencing.
It's clear that not all is right with Harold and Maureen's marriage, although at first it could be normal old couple crotchetiness.
Harold studied the mysterious envelope. Its pink was not the color of the bathroom suite, or the matching towels and fluffed cover for the toilet seat. That was a vivid shade that made Harold feel he shouldn't be there. But this was delicate. A Turkish Delight pink. His name and address were scribbled in ballpoint, the clumsy letters collapsing into one another as if a child had dashed them off in a hurry: Mr. H. Fry, 13 Fossebridge Road, Kingsbridge, South Hams. He didn't recognize the handwriting.
The letter is from a former co-worker of Harold's, a woman he hasn't seen in 20 years. Queenie is dying of cancer and has written to thank Harold for his friendship. She did something for Harold, made a great sacrifice, that he never thanked her for. The details are slowly revealed through the novel, with the full revelation coming at the end. After writing a brief reply, Harold walks to the mailbox to post the letter, then just keeps walking. By the end of the day, he has decided to walk from his home along the English Channel to the hospice where Queenie is dying, near the Scottish border.
Harold's walk becomes a form of therapy. Numerous events in his life have damaged him, but he's clearly never dealt with them, or even really allowed himself to think about them. In his absence, Maureen must also tend to her own emotional wounds. And as he walks, Harold interacts with people from many different backgrounds, all dealing with their own baggage. Eventually, a reporter Harold meets writes an article about his "pilgrimage" which makes its way to the national newspapers. Equally, but differently, troubled people join Harold along the road, turning his lone journey (at least temporarily) into something else entirely. This was my least favorite part of the book, which is fitting as it was probably Harold's least favorite part of his journey.
This parallel between the writing and Harold's state-of-mind occurs throughout the novel. When the story drags, it's because the journey is dragging for Harold. When it rambles, it's because Harold is rambling without a clear goal. When it's confusing, it's because Harold is confused. Overall, the story, like Harold, continues to head in one general directions, although the outcome isn't one Harold or the reader would have predicted.
Although there are a few moments of humor and joy, this novel is about how people are damaged, and in turn blame and damage others, and ultimately, it's about redemption.
Look at the rather whimsical cover. Consider the intriguing title. And take a look at Joyce's simple, straight-forward prose.
The letter that would change everything arrived on a Tuesday. It was an ordinary morning in mid-April that smelled of clean washing and grass cuttings. Harold Fry sat at the breakfast table, freshly shaved, in a clean shirt and tie, with a slice of toast that he wasn't eating. He gazed beyond the kitchen window at the clipped lawn, which was spiked in the middle by Maureen's telescopic washing line, and trapped on all three sides by the neighbors' stockade fencing.
It's clear that not all is right with Harold and Maureen's marriage, although at first it could be normal old couple crotchetiness.
Harold studied the mysterious envelope. Its pink was not the color of the bathroom suite, or the matching towels and fluffed cover for the toilet seat. That was a vivid shade that made Harold feel he shouldn't be there. But this was delicate. A Turkish Delight pink. His name and address were scribbled in ballpoint, the clumsy letters collapsing into one another as if a child had dashed them off in a hurry: Mr. H. Fry, 13 Fossebridge Road, Kingsbridge, South Hams. He didn't recognize the handwriting.
The letter is from a former co-worker of Harold's, a woman he hasn't seen in 20 years. Queenie is dying of cancer and has written to thank Harold for his friendship. She did something for Harold, made a great sacrifice, that he never thanked her for. The details are slowly revealed through the novel, with the full revelation coming at the end. After writing a brief reply, Harold walks to the mailbox to post the letter, then just keeps walking. By the end of the day, he has decided to walk from his home along the English Channel to the hospice where Queenie is dying, near the Scottish border.
Harold's walk becomes a form of therapy. Numerous events in his life have damaged him, but he's clearly never dealt with them, or even really allowed himself to think about them. In his absence, Maureen must also tend to her own emotional wounds. And as he walks, Harold interacts with people from many different backgrounds, all dealing with their own baggage. Eventually, a reporter Harold meets writes an article about his "pilgrimage" which makes its way to the national newspapers. Equally, but differently, troubled people join Harold along the road, turning his lone journey (at least temporarily) into something else entirely. This was my least favorite part of the book, which is fitting as it was probably Harold's least favorite part of his journey.
This parallel between the writing and Harold's state-of-mind occurs throughout the novel. When the story drags, it's because the journey is dragging for Harold. When it rambles, it's because Harold is rambling without a clear goal. When it's confusing, it's because Harold is confused. Overall, the story, like Harold, continues to head in one general directions, although the outcome isn't one Harold or the reader would have predicted.
Although there are a few moments of humor and joy, this novel is about how people are damaged, and in turn blame and damage others, and ultimately, it's about redemption.
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