reviewed
by Stephanie Stubbs, Assoc. AIA
Managing Editor
It would be easy to tout acclaimed novelist Gail Godwin’s Evenings
at Five as a perfect beach-trip summer story—easy, and not
quite right. This obviously autobiographic tale of a writer who muses
back on the 30-year marriage to the music composer husband she just lost
is instead an hour’s respite from chores on a rainy day, an under-a-pine-tree
fictional retreat, or a quietly contemplative evening when the reader
will be drawn to savor the good bits and pieces of her or his own life.
Evenings
at Five draws its name from the couple’s sacrosanct cocktail
hour, during which they interwove their separate creative pursuits with
ensuing triumphs and travails over the decades. Following on the heels
of the husband’s death, the book could have been very depressing.
Godwin’s gentle touch, however, elevates it to poignant, even delightful.
We know from the start that protagonist and alter-ego Christina will prevail,
despite skirting despair courtesy of the blue Bombay Gin bottle and the
seemingly immutable five o’clock ritual. The tale is, in fact, uplifting
in its recognition of the miracle of common, day-to-day objects and desires
and uses that we quite unconsciously swirl and blend over the years to
create our lives—together and apart.
Christina often contemplates “presence in absence” and “absence
in presence” as she comes to realize that in some ways her late
husband, Rudy, is more there now that he is gone. She hears what he was/is
saying more clearly, because she is listening harder, perhaps no longer
overwhelmed by his larger-than-life, boisterous persona. This dichotomous
concept seems to me linked to architecture in some ineffable way—is
architecture become more “space” if it less present? Can it,
like a person, exude a more powerful “presence in absence”?
Perhaps this line of thought spun from the delightful line drawings by
Frances Halsband, FAIA, principal of New York City’s R.M. Kliment
& Frances Halsband Architects. It is quietly astounding to see that
art could match prose so well, like words can be written to match a melody.
They are clean single-line sketches that capture in their simplicity the
rightness of ordinary objects: Rudy’s chair, Christina’s desk
with its ever-present raggedy thesaurus, and—a favorite—the
bedroom nightstand with a tall glass of water for the person and a short
glass for the cat.
Halsband’s
drawings greatly enhance the cadence of Godwin’s story. As famed
novelist Kurt Vonnegut wrote: “With words alone, Gail Godwin has
created an important piece of music about a love which death can only
increase and deepen. Yes, and Frances Halsband’s illustrations are
a haunting countermelody.” Together, author and artist have illuminated
a very human truth: We all face loss. We plunge through despair and emptiness,
and, eventually, love and the myriad simple details of life buoy us up
and point us in the direction to carry on.
Copyright 2003 The American Institute of Architects.
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