February is Lisa Moore's heart-stopping follow-up to her debut novel, Alligator, winner of the Commonwealth Writers' Prize for the Caribbean and Canadian region. Propelled by a local tragedy, in which an oil rig sinks in a violent storm off the coast of Newfoundland, February follows the life of Helen O'Mara, widowed by the accident, as she continuously spirals from the present day back to that devastating and transformative winter that persists in her mind and heart.
After overcoming the hardships of raising four children into adulthood as a single parent, Helen's strength and calculated positivity fool everyone into believing that she's pushed through the paralyzing grief of losing her spouse. But in private, Helen has obsessively maintained a powerful connection to her deceased husband.
When Helen's son, John, unexpectedly returns home with life-changing news, her secret world is irrevocably shaken, and Helen is quickly forced to come to terms with her inability to lay the past to rest.
Lisa Moore's talent for rendering the precise details of her characters' physical and emotional worlds makes for an unforgettable glimpse into the complex love and cauterizing grief that run through all of our lives. With February, Moore tenderly investigates how memory knits together the past and present, and pinpoints the very human need to always imagine a future, no matter how fragile.
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
February 01, 2010
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from February by Lisa Moore
The Ocean Ranger began to sink on Valentine's Day, 1982, and was gone by dawn the next day. Every man on it died. Helen was thirty in 1982. Cal was thirty-one.
It took three days to be certain the men were all dead. Some people hoped for three days. Not Helen. She knew they were gone, and it wasn't fair that she knew. She would have liked the three days. People talk about how hard it was, not knowing. Helen would have liked not to know.
She envied the people who knew that the winds were ninety knots, and could still show up at the Basilica in a kind of ecstasy of faith. They didn't call it a memorial service. Helen doesn't remember what they called the mass or if they called it anything or how she came to be there. What she remembers is that no reference was made to the men being dead.
Helen was not church inclined in 1982. But she remembers being drawn to the Basilica. She needed to be around the other families.
She cannot remember getting ready for the service. She might have worn her jeans. She knows she walked to the Basilica around the snow banks. The snow had been shaved by the plows. High white walls scraped smooth, soaking up the streetlight. The statue of the Virgin with snow in the eye sockets and over one cheek and the mouth like a robber's kerchief. She remembers that because already something was rising inside her: the injustice of being robbed.