In "Floating Bridge," Munro once again explores life's twists, the idea that things often don't turn out the way you expected. I enjoyed her description of how even good news can throw you out of whack.
"It removed a certain low-grade freedom. A dull, protecting membrane that she had not even known was there had been pulled away and left her raw."
And then, when she is unexpectedly kissed by the young waiter, she feels ''a swish of tender hilarity, getting the better of all her sores and hollows, for the time given.''
She recognizes that this is perhaps just a momentary relief, but also that perhaps she has been given more time.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
8 comments:
Good post, Erin. Momentary relief, indeed. I thought both the "low-grade freedom" and "sores and hollows" definitely referenced her train wreck of a marriage.
And "for the time given" ... leaving both her recovery from her illness and her relationship in flux.
If the Latin seemed heavy-handed in the first story, how about the kiss in the second? I thought that was contrived, even if it underlined her concerns about her femininity.
Yes! Yes! I LOVED THIS: The unspeakable excitement you feel when a galloping disaster promises to release you from all responsibility for your own life.
Oops, I was saying yes! yes! to Erin's post and cl's first two comments.
I love the kiss, cl. I love when she says it was the first time she had been on a floating bridge, and the kid says: And that's the first time I ever kissed a married woman.
"You'll probably kiss a lot more of them," she said. "Before you're done."
He sighed. "Yeah," he said. Amazed and sobered by the thought of what lay ahead of him. "Yeah, I probably will."
I had a moment of skepticism about the kiss, cl — I thought how would that just happen? How would that kid summon the boldness?
But then I thought it was supposed to be all about the moment — and that was part of the magic: that it just seemed right and natural to do that, and the age difference fell away and her marital status and every circumstance. He slipped his arm around her as if tehre was no question ... He kissed her mouth.I mean, two people at night on a floating bridge under a blanket of stars! A kiss is pretty much mandatory. It's part of the landscape.
And this: It seemed to her that this was the first time that she had ever participated in a kiss that was an event itself. The whole story, all by itself. A tender prologue, an efficient pressure, a wholehearted probing and receiving, a lingering thanks, and a drawing away satisfied.
And I love that it's kind of a goofy kid. He was about Helen's age, she thought. Seventeen or eighteen. Slim and graceful and cocky, with an ingenuous enthusiasm that would probably not get him as far as he hoped. She had seen a few like that who ended up as Young Offenders.
I think the kiss is kind of a salve for her — after a rather harrowing day that ws becoming increasingly senseless. At the beginning: "The parked cars, the pavement, the bricks of the other buildings, seemed positively to bombard her, as if they were all separate facts thrown up in ridiculous sequence." And the irritating, discombobulating journey in the van and the uncomfortable visit to Helen's foster family. But at night, on the bridge, in the kiss, the "separate facts thrown up in ridiculous sequence" have become whole for a moment.
Do you think she understands before the kiss happens that it will mean something to the kid, too? I mean, she knows it's coming because she let him put his arm around her. Or do you think it's something that occurs to her after the fact, as part of her enlarged consciousness of the moment — sort of a we're all in this together — like this moment gave the kid a story, too, enlarged his life, pulled her out of her head a little?
I didn’t think of the kiss as heavy-handed. And maybe I’m slow, but it came out of nowhere for me.
This was a good story, but I had a lot of trouble understanding it -- the writing was a little dense and I couldn’t process all of it. That’s why I can’t read much poetry and I can’t read a lot of the most artistic short stories or even novels -- they’re too compressed for my feeble mind to comprehend.
Post a Comment