Review:
At first, this book will eerily remind you of My Brilliant Friend: two young girls navigating life against a rural European backdrop–one wilful and unruly, the other passive and obedient. Both novels grapple with themes around identity, friendship, and class struggle, but The Book of Goose quickly establishes its own distinct narrative and perspective.
What grabbed me was Li's exploration into the complexities of self-perception, seen through the lens of Agnès and Fabienne’s relationship with each other and the adults in their lives. Agnès, embodying both herself and Fabienne as the author, and Fabienne, stepping into the persona of “Jaques” in her letters, serve up some food for thought into who we believe ourselves to be, how we project ourselves to others, and who we truly are. But that barely scratches the surface as Li tackles a bunch of heavy themes throughout the book, from death to motherhood to the abuse of power and so much more.
Like my experience with My Brilliant Friend, initially I wrestled with Agnès and Fabienne’s enigmatic personalities and dynamic. However, as the story unfolds, Li sheds light on Agnes’ supposed passivity and untangles Fabienne’s character towards the end. The conclusion packs an emotional punch no matter how you interpret it, but it's a satisfying one.
Li's prose is delightful. Each word is carefully chosen and paints a vivid picture in your mind’s eye, though sometimes you might prefer it didn’t. This book is a page-turner for sure, highly recommended.
Quotes:
Perhaps that was my intuition, acting sensibly and disarmingly baffled, as though the world were a mystery beyond my capacity, which I had accepted without protest, along with the fact that I, too, was part of that mystery, defying my own understanding.
Sometimes I think it may be just as well I cannot have my own children. I can count more things I would not be able to do for them than what I could; and I would rather march through life without the futile protection from my children. People often forget that it is a gamble to be a mother; I am not a gambler.
When people first see you, they think they know what’s on your mind. Then they look again, and wonder if they know anything.
“It doesn’t matter,” Fabienne said. “Nothing went as planned, but everything turned out just fine.”
A year is a year anywhere, a day is a day for everyone, and yet with a few tricks these archivists make others believe that they have packed something into their days, something precious, enviable, everlasting, that is not available to everyone.
Back at home rain was simply rain. In this new life, raindrops and streetlamps and the dark shapes of bare-limbed trees all seemed to have something to say to me, but if they were to speak, it would be in English, a language that was still foreign. I wished that I had listened to the rain speaking French to me when I was at home.
Love from those who cannot damage us irreparably often feels insufficient; we may think, rightly or wrongly, that their love does not matter at all.