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A review by zefrog
White Houses by Amy Bloom
3.0
White Houses is not a user-friendly book. For some reason, perhaps partly because I have attended a Q&A event with Bloom, I had great hopes for it. I suppose I was expecting a sweet historical queer romance, and to a point it is all these things but not in the way that answered those hopes of mine.
It is probably best to see White Houses as a literary cubist portrait of a love affair, or perhaps a Picasso in novel form, where several aspects of the subjects are impossibly presented on the same plane.
Although the narrative, told through the eyes of Lorena Hickok (Hick), is tightly framed in four parts containing numerous chapters themselves divided into discrete sections, it is presented from a variety of random and undefined points in time.
The chapters, except the last one, set in 1962, which works as some sort of epilogue, are dated and located from the same location over a long weekend in April 1945.
Being shortly after the death of FDR, it is possible that particular date has been selected as an anchor for the book as the point where the protagonist could expect to be finally free to live and be together.
From there, Hick reminisce on her past in general and more acutely on her on/off relationship with Eleanor Roosevelt. As far as I recall, the only date mentioned (several times) within the text is 1933, which is when Roosevelt became First Lady and Hick moved in at the White House. Otherwise there is little indication of where we are at any time on a meandering and overlapping time line, sometimes even with the same section of a chapter.
Bloom has made the decision to keep a general vagueness in terms of historical context. This could be for fear of repeating what she feels is already well documented or perhaps she wanted to specially explore the emotional landscape of the central relationship, but even that often remains out of focus.
Because of this and because we only have a one-sided, second-hand telling of the story, the narrative becomes alienating and difficult to engage with. It took me almost three quarter of the book to begin to care a little, finely drawn in by Bloom's fine prose. By then, in this short novel, it was too late, however.
I think I would have liked to have more of Eleanor Roosevelt, whom Hick (and Bloom) describe as totally fascinating. This doesn't really come across from the book, sadly.
From a queer perspective, it is interesting to see that heterosexual and lesbian dalliances seems to be able to flourish with widespread complicity from the wider society at the time. Not so much with gay relationships, as exemplified by the only fictional characters (as far as I know) introduced by Bloom.
So, not what I expected. As such I give the book a hesitant three-star rating, because I did sort of like it in the end. You'll have to make up your own mind, I suppose.
It is probably best to see White Houses as a literary cubist portrait of a love affair, or perhaps a Picasso in novel form, where several aspects of the subjects are impossibly presented on the same plane.
Although the narrative, told through the eyes of Lorena Hickok (Hick), is tightly framed in four parts containing numerous chapters themselves divided into discrete sections, it is presented from a variety of random and undefined points in time.
The chapters, except the last one, set in 1962, which works as some sort of epilogue, are dated and located from the same location over a long weekend in April 1945.
Being shortly after the death of FDR, it is possible that particular date has been selected as an anchor for the book as the point where the protagonist could expect to be finally free to live and be together.
From there, Hick reminisce on her past in general and more acutely on her on/off relationship with Eleanor Roosevelt. As far as I recall, the only date mentioned (several times) within the text is 1933, which is when Roosevelt became First Lady and Hick moved in at the White House. Otherwise there is little indication of where we are at any time on a meandering and overlapping time line, sometimes even with the same section of a chapter.
Bloom has made the decision to keep a general vagueness in terms of historical context. This could be for fear of repeating what she feels is already well documented or perhaps she wanted to specially explore the emotional landscape of the central relationship, but even that often remains out of focus.
Because of this and because we only have a one-sided, second-hand telling of the story, the narrative becomes alienating and difficult to engage with. It took me almost three quarter of the book to begin to care a little, finely drawn in by Bloom's fine prose. By then, in this short novel, it was too late, however.
I think I would have liked to have more of Eleanor Roosevelt, whom Hick (and Bloom) describe as totally fascinating. This doesn't really come across from the book, sadly.
From a queer perspective, it is interesting to see that heterosexual and lesbian dalliances seems to be able to flourish with widespread complicity from the wider society at the time. Not so much with gay relationships, as exemplified by the only fictional characters (as far as I know) introduced by Bloom.
So, not what I expected. As such I give the book a hesitant three-star rating, because I did sort of like it in the end. You'll have to make up your own mind, I suppose.