I'm rereading The Story of Lucy Gault, by the Irish
novelist William Trevor, for my book group.
I rarely reread a book, and this is the second time
in six months for this title. I'm struck by the effortlessness,
the elegance of the writing. Trevor has a way
of approaching a paragraph from the edges of
details, and then the details, and then, finally
towards the end of the paragraph, the subject.
And as he weaves strands from the past into the present
in a most understated manner, it often takes
a second look to fully parse the sense of a passage.
But so satisfying! He writes about the tragedy
and heartbreak of the Irish Civil War not on a grand
scale, but in how the conflict left its staggering
wounds on the small and humble.