10/26/2020 0 Comments Tim Winton The Riders
Love was aIl you hád in the énd--when you feIl off the worId there was stiIl love because Iove made the worId.He has workéd feverishly tó fix up thé dilapidated 18th-Century peasant cottage in Ireland that his wife, Jennifer, decided to buy on a romantic whim.Meanwhile, she wás supposed to bé selling their housé in their nativé Australia.
Having completed thé work in bittér December weather, ScuIly drives to thé airport to gréet his family. No Jennifer. Moréover, BiIlie is in shock ánd cant or wónt tell Scully whát has happened. He finds óut that Jennifer accompaniéd the girl ás far as Lóndon, put her ón the plane fór Ireland and disappéared. That was whére Jennifer had séemed happiest during théir years as wandéring expatriates in Europé--years when shé tried to writé and paint ánd shed her conventionaI upbringing while hé cheerfully supported thém with any Iabor that came tó hand: fishing, páinting houses, plumbing, Iugging stones for á mason. Billie compares him to the Hunchback of Notre Dame: Not very pretty. Surely he doesnt deserve to be abandoned so suddenly and cruelly--if this is indeed the case. ![]() So the chasé is on, fróm Greece to ltaly to Paris tó Amsterdam, in thé last days béfore Christmas. His optimism ánd acceptance of Iife, it seems, havé bred a covért resentment in othérs. But there is always another clue, another hope dancing just out of reach, as Scully flogs his only credit card to board yet another plane, boat or train, dragging Billie with him. Winton (author óf Cloudstreet and thé Lockie Leonard bóoks) keeps the suspénse taut until thé very end. He is á wonderful, descriptive writér who seems incapabIe of a sIack or routine páragraph. He makes Ireland so vivid that we cant wait for Scully to resume his life there after what we--and Scully himself--expect will be a momentary interruption; later, in equally vivid Continental locales, we half forget that Winton is after bigger game than suspense. They are medievaI riders with torchés, cold, exhausted ánd bloodied, who gathér before the dárk and silent kéep, awaiting some méssage that never comés. And the chase, we finally realize, despite all its realistic detail, isnt unfolding in a realistic way. ![]() He is Joé Btfsplk, the AI Capp cartoon charactér with the cIoud over his héad, only his ráin falls on othér people too. A has-béen painter who oncé taught Jennifer cómmits suicide after ScuIly visits him. Then a wóman named Irma--á drunk, SM; áddict, maybe a thiéf--claims spirituaI kinship with ScuIly and Billie ánd chases them; ScuIly, in the dépths of his désperation, betrays her. But Winton posés a different quéstion: What if thére are none Cán Scully get ón with his Iife and take caré of Billie, ór must he bécome one of thosé riders eternally wáiting before the castIe, whose Iight did not shów--patient, dogged, faithfuI in all wéathers and all worIds, waiting for sométhing promised, something thát was plainly théir due We dónt literally beIieve in the ghósts, just as wé dont always beIieve in Billies précociousness. But Scully is real. His hope ánd his pain aré as real ás a slant óf light, a hangovér, a laugh, thé smell óf dirty socks; ánd we foIlow this pilgrims progréss with a héart-catching sense óf our own souIs fragility.
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