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The Brambles

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Overview

A luminous, panoramic novel of family life-a beautiful, often hilarious portrait of motherhood and marriage-and a magnificent leap forward from the highly praised author ofThe Tiny One("Minot has a sorceress's ability to perceive the emotional spirits trapped in nature and a wild, unstrung, lyrical gift"-The New York Times Book Review).

Editorial Reviews

Minot's graceful, candid novel about the meaning of adulthood and the depth of family attachment follows the three siblings of the titular clan as they face the consequences of their life choices. Margaret is an ambivalent mother of three who relinquished her autonomy and former identity as a hip New Yorker for a suburban life of carpools; Max, a new father, quit his job as an independent film producer but hides the truth from his wife by pretending to go to work every day; depressed, lonely 20-something Edie struggles with singlehood and a newly acquired eating disorder. Now, they must cope with their widowed father, Arthur, who moves into Margaret's home to suffer through the final stages of cancer. There is also the matter of a long-held family secret, revealed, of course, when they least expect it. Minot (Susan's sister and author of The Tiny One) has a refreshing, contemporary voice, and even the most mundane moments-Edie talking to herself in the car, Margaret's daughter dancing on the lawn-contain surprising swells of emotion. As it turns out, the revealed secret is melodramatic and far-fetched, but this novel excels all the same, buoyed up by its quiet conflicts and small, gorgeous glimpses at truth. 40,000 announced first printing; author tour. (July 21) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information. -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.

Author Information

Bio of Eliza Minot

When I set out to write this it was almost a different story. The idea that I had at the very beginning did not involve the death of a parent. I didn't know if my character was a boy or a girl, but the idea was that some kid comes home and finds him or herself alone in a big empty house. The family has just disappeared. It's a bit of a surreal idea. I was working with both a boy and a girl, and the kid would go to school, come home, and didn't really want to tell the neighbors or the teachers, but (s)he thought, "Okay, I can deal with this on my own."

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Additional Info

Imprint

Random House

Filesize

657.48 KB

Number of Pages

256

eBook ISBN

9780307265517

Excerpt from: The Brambles by Eliza Minot

Let's keep him," said Florence. They were about to sign the lease. "He looks like he likes it here."

In the flowerbed, a small cement statue, two feet tall, robed, bearded, in mid-step looks down at the rounded rim of the swimming pool. In one hand he holds a spade, in the other a plume of kale or chard. The house's previous occupants had left him. Or maybe the occupants before them. A frost of green moss along an eyebrow. Part of a finger fallen off. Coin-sized circles, charcoal gray, of lichen.

"Saint Fiacre," said Arthur. He'd recently seen an article on him in one of the gardening magazines. "Also known as Fiacrius, I believe. Fiachra."

"Mmm," said Florence. She was already tearing up some weeds in the raised bed next to her hip.

"The patron saint of gardeners," said Arthur.

"And women who can't conceive," said Florence, bent over, uprooting tall grasses. "And taxi drivers."

Arthur laughed. "Nonsense."

"And potters, tile makers . . . hemorrhoids."

"Hemorrhoids get to have a saint?"

"That's what one of your magazines told me," she said. "I read it on the john." She stood up straight. "Do you think we could bring out a part of that rambler rose? Plant it right here?" She shimmied her arm up, a move from one of her dance numbers a long time ago, to demonstrate where. "A trellis?"

Arthur stood at the pool's edge, watching the water's surface get spackled with light. "I don't see why not," he said.

Florence surveyed the place, massaged her chin with her thumb and forefinger, playing the part of someone surveying, considering, left behind a soul patch of dirt underneath her bottom lip. "Can't we put bulbs in the freezer to pretend winter's happening?"

"Certainly," said Arthur.

"Those other roses," continued Florence, "the sweet midget ones, could be over there."

"Dwarf. Of course," he said.

Florence looked up to see him standing at the edge of the pool as if he might upend it. "Look at you," she said. "You'll never step foot in that pool."

"It's remarkably clean."