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Consequences by Penelope Lively

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(Hardcover - Bargain)

Pub. Date: May 2007
258pp

Reader Rating: (3 ratings)

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Product Details

Pub. Date: May 2007
Publisher: Penguin Group (USA)
Format: Hardcover, 258pp

ISBN-13: 9780641918254
ISBN: 0641918259
Edition Description: Bargain

Synopsis

Consequences is a love-story-times-three that opens on the eve of the Second World War, with a chance meeting in St. James's Park, London. Told in Lively's incomparable prose, it is a powerful story of growth, death, and rebirth and a study of the previous century---its major and minor events, its shaping of public consciousness, and its changing of lives.

San Francisco Chronicle

An often beautiful novel of astute observations.

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Biography

Beloved memoirist (A House Unlocked), children's book author (The Ghost of Thomas Kempe), and Booker Prize winner Penelope Lively is perhaps best known for smart, literate thrillers that look to the past for keys to understanding, like 2003's The Photograph. "I'm not an historian," Lively told Britain's The Observer, "but I can get interested -- obsessively interested -- with any aspect of the past."

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loved itby momwifeattorneygolfer

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July 09, 2009: Ms. Lively is a GREAT writer. So much better written than the majority of what is on the best seller lists.

I Also Recommend: Hotel du Lac.

Selectiveby Anonymous

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November 06, 2007: I really wanted the book to completely immerse me into the time, but the author only chose to disclose details to further the story instead of painting each picture, as I had intended to read. I did believe it was eye-opening to over time read through different people's percepectives, but fell short when a personality of a character told the reader what she is more likely to do, (instead the author decided to again further her point along). I did appreciate learning about different trades, but struggled to complete the last few pages as there was no climax and predictability by that point was becoming old.

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Fact File

Name:
Penelope Lively

Current Home:
London, England

Date of Birth:
March 17, 1933

Place of Birth:
Cairo, Egypt

Education:
Honors Degree in Modern History, University of Oxford, England, 1955

Awards:
Arts Council National Book Award, 1979; Southern Arts Literature Prize, 1981; Carnegie Medal, 1973; Whitbread Award, 1976; Booker Prize, 1987

Good to Know

In her interview with Barnes & Noble.com, Lively shared some fun facts about herself:

"I came late to writing -- I was in my late 30s before I wrote anything. The years before that had been busy with small children, and I seem to have fallen into writing almost by accident. Since then, I have never stopped -- books for children to begin with, then a period writing for both adults and children -- short stories also -- then for adults only when the children's books, sadly, left me."

"It has been a busy 30 years, but because writing is a solitary activity and I like the company of others, I have also always had other involvements -- with writers' organizations such as Britain's Society of Authors, with PEN, with the Royal Society of Literature, and, for six years, as a member of the Board of the British Library (the opposite number of the Library of Congress) which I regarded as a great privilege -- what could be more important than the national archive?"

"I have always been an avid user of libraries; like any writer, much of my inspiration comes from life as it is lived -- what you see and hear and experience, but my novels have sprung from some abiding interest -- the operation of memory, the effects of choice and contingency, the conflicting nature of evidence -- and these concerns are fueled by reading: serendipitous and eclectic reading."

"I am first and foremost a reader myself. I don't think I could write if I wasn't constantly reading. I both wind and unwind by reading -- stimulus and relaxation both. I used to love tramping the landscape, and gardening, but arthritis rules out both of those, so I do both vicariously through books. I live in the city now, but feel out of place -- I have always before lived most of the time in the country: I miss wide skies, weather, seasons."

"Never mind, there are compensations, and London is a very different place from the pinched and bomb-shattered place to which I came as a schoolgirl in 1945 -- now it is multicultural, polyglot, vibrant, unpredictable, in a state of constant change but with that bedrock of permanence that an old place always has. I like to escape from time to time -- mainly to West Somerset, where we have a family cottage and I can admire my daughter's garden -- she has the gardening gene in a big way and is far more skilled than I ever was -- bird-watch, walk a bit, talk to people I've known for decades, and see the night sky crackling with the stars that the city blots out."

Feature Interview

What was the book that most influenced your life -- and why?
Andrew Lang's Tales of Troy and Greece. This is the classic late nineteenth century re-telling of mythology, and I read it -- or had it read to me -- as a child. I was growing up in Egypt during the Second World War, a solitary child who did not go to school but was educated in a haphazard way at home. I depended on reading for companionship and imaginative stimulus, gobbling up the few books that came my way.

The great stories of Greek mythology fired me more than anything -- the siege of Troy, the wanderings of Odysseus, Jason and the Golden Fleece, the Minotaur -- all of it. I acted out the stories on my own, playing in the large garden that became the backdrop for it all -- Troy and everywhere else. And of course I was in there anyway -- Penelope -- but with what I saw as the dud part, sitting at home weaving while the action was elsewhere. One needed to be Helen, or the glamorous Nausicaa, making overtures to Odysseus on the beach. So I did a bit of rejigging. More significantly, steeping myself in those stories back then fostered a passion for narrative -- and also gave me a grounding in those myths without some knowledge of which you cannot make sense of much poetry, let alone Western art.

What are your ten favorite books -- and what makes them special to you?
Goodness -- only ten? Impossible to make such invidious choices -- but here are ten of my favorite books:

Henry James's What Maisie Knew -- this novel, along with the following two, are books that I admire and reread because they seem to extend the boundaries of what fiction can do. What Maisie Knew is an exposure of adult deception and bad behavior seen entirely through the eyes of a child, who does not herself understand what it is that she is seeing. But of course the adult reader understands, and is thus subtly made to feel identified with the adult chicanery, and is disconcerted; it is a clever and very moving exercise in a viewpoint, and also a picture of early-20th-century social mores.

Ford Madox Ford's The Good Soldier -- another groundbreaking novel, in which key information about adultery and betrayal is released only at intervals, so that the reader keeps on realizing that nothing is as had previously appeared in the dance of love and death among a small group of characters. There is an extraordinary tension -- these are vivid people -- and a mastery of narrative technique that is unrivaled.

William Golding's The Inheritors -- I am out of step with most in finding this novel even more compelling than Lord of the Flies. This is the one in which Golding imagines the confrontation between Neanderthal man and Homo sapiens and tells his story entirely through the perception of a little group of Neanderthalers -- an extraordinary feat. As in What Maisie Knew -- the reader is always able to see over the shoulder of the Neanderthalers, as it were, to understand what is going on when they do not. It is a story of innocence and the beginnings of evil -- one of the saddest books I know.

Willa Cather's My Antonia -- I loved this when first I read it, years ago, and revisit it frequently. I love it for the sharpness of its imagery, which conjures up frontier life in the way that only words could do. Cather never wanted a film to be made of it, and quite right too -- her image of the ploughshare silhouetted against the vast setting sun stands best in the mind, just like that. And the characters -- Antonia herself, the tragic Mr. Shimerda -- are so richly drawn that one would never want them interfered with, superimposed with the picture of an actor. I enjoy other Cather novels too, but My Antonia seems to me the one in which her gift for accuracy and her sharp vision of a time and a place shine out best.

Vladimir Nabokov's Speak, Memory -- This is one of the great memoirs, in my mind. It is brief and episodic, but conjures up time and place, once again with such clarity that you feel you must have been there also. There is a passage in which he describes hiding under a mesh-seated chair in his parents' drawing-room in St. Petersburg that is so vivid that you realize you have been seeing, for an instant, through the eyes of a four-year-old before the Russian Revolution. Whether he is remembering a train journey or a butterfly hunt, he does so in language so elegant and compelling that you share the experience. The book is also a remarkable account of what it was like to be caught up in one of the major turmoils of the last century.

Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse -- I have an on/off relationship with this novel, as with much of Virginia Woolf's work. Sometimes I read it with fascination and notice layers that have escaped me before; at others, I can be exasperated by prose that seems opaque and self-indulgent. To the Lighthouse is less inclined to these excesses than The Waves, from which I shy away, and its failings are far outweighed by its strengths, especially in its evocation of memory -- the way in which she suggests its shimmering, random quality and its rejection of any linear, chronological process, the strange way in which it preserves some moments with absolute clarity and loses others entirely. I read To the Lighthouse for its language and its insights, and in a way I also relish the ambivalence I feel about it. A relationship with a book can be like a relationship with a friend -- at one moment you are close, at another, things are not going quite so well.

Sir Thomas Browne's Hydriotaphia -- My husband introduced me to this, when we were both very young, he having been amazed by it as an avidly reading schoolboy. "The treasures of time lie high, in Urnes, Coynes, and Monuments, scarce below the roots of some vegetables. Time hath endless rarities, and shows of all varieties; which reveals old things in heaven, and new discoveries in earth and even earth itself a discovery." When first I read that incomparable 17th-century prose I thought that this must have been the high point of our use of language; that, and the King James Bible. I go back to it again and again when I want a shot in the arm -- a glimpse of how people once used the English language.

Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass -- Carroll is one of the only writers to have been able to suggest a child's vision of the world. Alice's view is the eye of childhood; she is the voice of rationality, confronted by an anarchic and unpredictable cast of characters, whose behavior is inconsistent, outrageous, and unreasonable. This is what children face -- the orders and requirements of adults, which seem quite impenetrable but to which they must accommodate. They navigate a mysterious world and have to work out the codes as they go along, which is what Alice does in Wonderland. The Red Queen and the White Rabbit, the Caterpillar, Tweedledum and Tweedledee, and all the rest of them stand for the vagaries and eccentricities of adults, as seen by the mystified child. And then, on top of that, there is the wonderful fun that is had with language -- the play on words, the jokes.

Plus, if you want to delve deeper, the parodies of Victorian life and manners. But when I first read the book, as a child, I knew nothing of all that, and cared less -- I simply responded to the characters and the adventures. It was just a splendid read. Only as an adult did I come to see what an amazing confection it is -- one of the most complex of all fictions.

Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence -- I came late to Edith Wharton, and with relish. This is probably my favorite of her novels, though The House of Mirth would run it close. There can be few richer and more intricate depictions of a particular kind of people at a particular time -- the complacent and impenetrable society of wealthy New Yorkers at the end of the last century. It is dense, detailed and powerful, and also dramatic and entertaining. The central love affair between the young, wealthy Newland Archer and his wife's relative Ellen Olanska stands in a sense for the impending downfall of this hidebound society, but it is also compelling in its own right and leaves the reader with curiously ambivalent views about who is behaving well and who is not. And there are some marvelous minor characters -- the dinosaurs of that vanished world.

Charles Dickens's Dombey and Son -- I revisit a Dickens every few years, and probably this one most frequently. I first read him when I was that solitary child in Egypt, or rather, read him with the person who gave me such education as I had, and we reveled in Nicholas Nickelby and David Copperfield, suspending all disbelief and weeping copiously. Dombey I did not meet up with till much later, and now that is my preferred grown-up Dickens, for its sobriety, its portrayal of unrelenting self-righteousness, and its atmosphere of London at a particular moment.

Favorite Films?

Casablanca

High Noon

The Third Man

The English Patient

Singing in the Rain

The African Queen

Favorite Music?
Too much to list, but here's a few � Bach's unaccompanied cello suites, Schubert's "Trout" Quintet, Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro, Schutz's Easter Oratorio, and, for lighter moments, I like a bit of country and western.

If you had a book club, what would it be reading, and why?
Something by Carol Shields, probably either The Stone Diaries or Mary Swann, because she writes fiction that lends itself to discussion -- not just to enthuse about her subtlety and her deft touch but also because her books have that quality common to all the best fiction, whereby different readers find different resonances and respond differently to characters and situations, so there is plenty to discuss.

I am a huge supporter of book clubs and have been a member of one -- the most profitable books for discussion always seems to be those with an underpinning of ideas, a seven-eights of the iceberg beneath the narrative.

What are your favorite books to give -- and get -- as gifts?
I tend to give books that I can't wait to share with someone else -- a new poetry collection, perhaps, or a writer new to me. I read a lot of history and archaeology, so a welcome gift is something in that line that I might not have come across.

Who are your favorite writers, and what makes their writing special?
Again, the list could go on and on -- but it mustn't, so I'll stick with a handful:

John Updike -- for his marvelous use of language, his relentless inspection of how people behave, his creation of a particular American landscape.

Elizabeth Bowen -- for her insights into emotional life, for her elegant prose, for the way in which her novels and short stories preserve a particular society in prewar England and Ireland.

Evelyn Waugh -- for his satire, his savagery, his accuracy, his relentless dissection of the world of which he was himself a part.

Ivy Compton-Burnett -- because she is utterly unrealistic but also absolutely credible. Her characters are like no one you have ever known, and their domestic lives of barbed exchanges that conceal suggested mayhem are both unbelievable and entirely convincing. And she wrote some of the best dialogue going.

Ann Tyler -- because no one writes so pungently of family life in all its manifestations, and few other writers give you such persuasive characters. Her books have that classic "unputdownable" quality -- and you want to go back to them.

Jonathan Raban -- the best contemporary travel writer, for my money. He is original, innovative, takes you to places you are never going to get to otherwise, and with a style that is at once entertaining and provocative.

Barry Unsworth -- for his versatility, his reinvention of the historical novel, his humor.

What are you working on now?
I am writing a fictional anti-memoir. I have got to the point in life when you wonder why you have ended up as the person you are, doing what you do, with family you have, rather than all the other outcomes that there might have been. So I am looking at those crucial points in life that we all have, when we went in one direction rather than another, and writing fiction about what might have happened, in which I am usually a peripheral figure, seen through the eyes of others, an accessory to the lives of others -- the child I didn't have, the man I never met.

From the Publisher

The Booker Prize-winning author's first novel since The Photograph is a sweeping saga of three generations of women, their lives, and loves

A chance meeting in St. James's Park begins young Lorna and Matt's intense relationship. Wholly in love, they leave London for a cottage in a rural Somerset village. Their intimate life together�Matt's woodcarving, Lorna's self-discovery, their new baby, Molly�is shattered with the arrival of World War II. In 1960s London, Molly happens upon a forgotten newspaper�a seemingly small moment that leads to her first job and, eventually, a pregnancy by a wealthy man who wants to marry her but whom she does not love. Thirty years later, Ruth, who has always considered her existence a peculiar accident, questions her own marriage and begins a journey that takes her back to 1941�and a redefinition of herself and of love.

Told in Lively's incomparable prose, Consequences is a powerful story of growth, death, and rebirth and a study of the previous century�its major and minor events, its shaping of public consciousness, and its changing of lives.

San Francisco Chronicle

An often beautiful novel of astute observations.

New York Times Book Review

Joyous . . . At its center shimmers the idea of . . . the continuity of humankind as embodied in one family, shattered and reconstituted, fragile, stubborn, endearing.

Los Angeles Times Book Review

A bold, lovely book.

The New York Times - Nancy Kline

… Consequences, despite its shadows, is also a joyous ever-widening dance. At its center shimmers the idea of resiliency, of the continuity of humankind as embodied in one family, shattered and reconstituted, fragile, stubborn, enduring.

Publishers Weekly

Booker and Whitbread prize�winner Lively begins her 14th novel, a multigenerational love story, in a London park in 1935, ends it nearly 70 years later after covering several lifetimes of love and heartbreak. The story starts when Lorna Bradley and Matt Faraday meet in St. James Park; they are instantly drawn to one another despite her upper-crust upbringing and Matt's "tradesman" profession. After their marriage, they settle in the country where Matt works as an engraver and Lorna fulfills her domestic role as a wife and mother to their daughter, Molly. It is an idyllic situation until Matt is drafted and sent to Egypt, where he is killed in action. Lorna and young Molly relocate to London, and Lorna works with Matt's friend Lucas at his small printing press. Predictably, Lucas and Lorna marry, but she dies giving birth to Simon. The narrative diverges as grown-up Molly finds employment as a library assistant and has an affair with a wealthy man who fathers her child, Ruth. Grown and with children of her own, Ruth's curiosity about her ancestors sends her on a journey that brings the novel full circle. Lively (A Stitch in Time; Moon Tiger) has crafted a fine novel: intricate, heartbreaking and redemptive. (June)

Maureen Neville - Library Journal

This new novel by award-winning British author Lively (Moon Tiger) begins in the 1930s as Londoners Lorna and Matt meet, marry, and move into a rural English cottage, where daughter Molly is born. When Matt dies in battle during World War II, the shattered Lorna moves back to London to live with Lucas, Matt's business partner and friend. When subsequent loss occurs, the narrative shifts to Molly, now a smart, independent young woman looking out for her younger brother and stepfather while making her way in the working world. Later, as Molly negotiates midlife, the narrative shifts again, settling on Molly's daughter, Ruth, a journalist who is married with two children and yet yearns for happiness. Both in linear progression and through the resonance of past and present, this story pulls the reader along with captivating characters whose lives seem achingly familiar. Additionally, the story has a subtle thread about how family legacy can deepen one's perception and appreciation of life. Recommended for both public and academic libraries. [See Prepub Alert, LJ2/15/07.]

Library Journal

Life is bliss for Lorna and Matt until World War II comes along; daughter Molly has baby Ruth in Sixties London; and Ruth looks back on their twisted pasts. With an online guide. Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

Three generations of independent women in a single family are fortunate enough to meet the loves of their lives. Applying her gift for seamless and addictive prose to matters of the heart, the Booker Prize-winning British writer's 17th novel (Making It Up, 2005, etc.) is a well-crafted, soft-centered object lesson in the random yet unique business of meeting Mr. Right. Well-bred Lorna Bradley bumps into gifted wood-engraver Matt Faraday in London's St. James's Park in 1935 and marries him against her snobby parents' wishes. A few brief years of idyllic happiness-including the birth of daughter Molly-ensue, in a picturesque but unmodernized cottage in Somerset before World War II intervenes, eventually claiming the life of Matt in Crete. Heartbroken, Lorna turns to printer and family friend Lucas, later marries him but dies giving birth to their son. Molly grows up self-reliant and refuses to marry her wealthy publisher lover, even after becoming pregnant by him. She doesn't meet her own romantic destiny-poet Sam-until many years later, at a literary festival. Her daughter Ruth, a journalist, makes a conventional marriage to Peter but falls out of love with him as the years go by and eventually ends up with academic and writer Brian, back in the idyllic country cottage (now modernized) where her grandfather's mural of the dance of life still graces the bedroom wall. Moving at a cracking pace, Lively never strays too far from her themes of love and literature, words and pictures, lighting up the narrative with flashes of historical detail. Intelligent escapism: Although grounded by social history, this novel has its head in the fairy-tale clouds, where good things always await.

Consequences by Penelope Lively

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Synopsis

San Francisco Chronicle

Biography

Customer Reviews

loved itby momwifeattorneygolfer

Selectiveby Anonymous

Fact File

Good to Know

Feature Interview

From the Publisher

San Francisco Chronicle

New York Times Book Review

Los Angeles Times Book Review

The New York Times - Nancy Kline

Publishers Weekly

Maureen Neville - Library Journal

Library Journal

Kirkus Reviews

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Consequences by Penelope Lively

BUY THIS ITEM

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Product Details

Synopsis

San Francisco Chronicle

Biography

Customer Reviews

loved itby momwifeattorneygolfer

Selectiveby Anonymous

Fact File

Good to Know

Feature Interview

From the Publisher

San Francisco Chronicle

New York Times Book Review

Los Angeles Times Book Review

The New York Times - Nancy Kline

Publishers Weekly

Maureen Neville - Library Journal

Library Journal

Kirkus Reviews

Product Details

Related Subjects

More by This Author

Related Authors

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