Lives of the Saints: A Novel by Nancy Lemann; Paperback; Published May 1, 1997 by LSU Press; ISBN: 9780807121627 (ISBN10: 0807121622); Language: English
…people should be elated by the small things in life, by society at a wedding party in the garden, or just by sitting on the porch while looking at the rain slash into the azalea. If you are elated by the small things in life, I’d judge it means that you are truly happy…
Sort of a quirky book with a host of silly characters overtly emphasized. I was reminded of my own thirty-one years living in Louisville, Kentucky and their vast contingents of Southern-made blue-bloods and wannabes. Of course, New Orleans is far more entrenched within the culture of the deep south. And Lemann celebrates these eccentricities with a deft hand and a cleverness that is surely a major element of her character and charming personality.
…Nuts made life worth living…
I have never been a fan of unrealistic fiction. Made-up characters, plot, and bizarre events typically turn me off. But little phrases such as the one above force a chuckle inside and I persist in my reading in hopes of further examples of her brilliance and originality. Never exactly sure where Lemann is going in this novel but I am committed to be carried along for the ride. And not to mention knowing full well that Lemann’s words on 144 pages are indeed being written upon me. Which is somewhat scary.
…They were off on a frolic of their own…
And I don’t know many writers like this who say what she says and in the way she says it. You know, like they were off on a frolic of their own. I like that. And so I stay on, reading a few pages a day, not many, but just enough to eventually finish this latest assignment, hoping for something perhaps profound within her pages, or one day feeling immensely grateful for my efforts. But that hasn't happened yet.
…We were eating pathetic wilted cheese sandwiches. The lettuce was wilted and it was so pathetic somehow, my pathetic love for him, sitting with him being so alone and pathetic. That’s what I thought love was, being in the most pathetic part of someone’s solitude…
And paragraphs like the above example is why I persist. Lemann is often remarkable in her composition. Hitting notes of truth rarely seen in contemporary fiction.
…My heart was not trained to love anyone but him. I could only love one person. This was my innate principle. It would disrupt the nervous system to be otherwise. It goes against nature to be otherwise. I cannot just transfer my affections, for they are carved in stone, and were decreed three billion years before the ocean rolled…
It’s a cross some of us will bear together. A securely fastened yoke, locked and loaded, and a quicksand trudge through a fairly miserable life. Unless, of course, your love eventually becomes requited. Comic in a way. Sad in another.
…“Cat mighty dignified till the dog walk by,” he said…
Based on this book Lemann is worthy of another look. Ritz of the Bayou came next, after this first novel, and it awaits me on my bookshelf. I am somewhat curious if she becomes a more serious writer because she certainly has the talent to be whatever she wishes for herself.
Love like a wilted cheese sandwich. And pathetic repeated over and over. Thank you for an indelible image.