Had
you asked me a week ago if I believed in magic, I'm not sure how I
might have answered. I probably would have asked for clarification,
such as your definition of "magic" or even your definition
of "belief"--a stalling tactic, pretty much, to give me
time to think.
For
me a good novel is a ticket to ride. To journey to someplace
unexpected. Reading a good novel is by no means a passive experience.
But for me this does not involve reading with a critical eye. Before
I can expect to enjoy a novel I must close that eye, open my mind and
let the author's imagination in to play awhile with mine. And if our
imaginations get along, they can take me to a world I'd never dreamed
of.
And
when that happens...magic.
The
Hummingbird's Cage opens
amid a nightmare, or, more accurately, a nightmarish reality:
My
husband tells me I look washed up. Ill favored, he says, like old
bathwater circling the drain. If my clothes weren’t there to hold
me together, he says, I’d flush all away. He tells me these things
and worse as often as he can, till there are times I start to believe
him and I can feel my mind start to dissolve into empty air.
Reading
that paragraph—the very first one—started a sorrowful anger
building in me that by the time I'd come to the end of it I already
wanted justice to be done to that cruel, heartless bastard. The
violence in word and deed he heaps upon his wife, Joanna, builds in
tandem with my rage as Joanna narrates her heartwrenching story. She
had me trembling with fury. I turned page after page as the evil
grew.
The
physical abuse and the crushing of her spirit oppressed me, as well.
My feeling of helplessness merged with hers, with no relief in sight.
And then...
With
the encouragement of a wild and wily biker chick--her husband's
former girlfriend--Joanna and her young daughter make their escape.
Or so it seems.
I'm
reluctant to tell you much more than I have, as I would hate to spoil
the adventure your imagination can share in league with the author's.
I can safely say this story has no modern comparison, for me anyway.
I'm no professional critic with experience in any particular canon of
fashionable modern literature. The
Hummingbird's Cage
has been mentioned in association with "new age." I've only
a vague idea what that might be, and have no interest in venturing
there. I don't do literary analysis, nor am I keen on what's in and
what's not.
The
only novel I've read that came to mind while I was immersed in The
Hummingbird's Cage
is James Hilton's Lost
Horizon.
And that's too old to be "new age."
I
love fascinating characters, seductive writing and stories I can get
lost in. When these three loves come together for me, it's magic.
There are dreams one is glad to awaken from and others one resents
having to leave behind. I found both in The
Hummingbird's Cage.
You'd
probably like for me to tell you what the title means. I was prepared
to do just that when I started writing this report. I've since
decided to let you find out for yourself. It's a humdinger of a
title.
Magic.
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