I can't imagine that there is any loss
more painful than the death of a child. It is every parent's worst
nightmare. But in Paul Harding's Enon, as
we learn on the book's first page, Charlie
Crosby is faced with that devastating reality. Crosby is the
grandson of George Crosby, the Maine clock repairer who was the
protagonist of Harding's first novel, the Pulitzer Prize winning
“Tinkers”. If you've read that book you will remember the
remarkable lyricism of Harding's prose and his powerful descriptions
of the natural world.
Those
gifts are amply evident in this novel. For a full year Charlie
wanders the small town of Enon, observing the changing seasons,
numbed by drugs and alcohol, grieving for his daughter Kate. And
honestly, he's a mess. The narrative mirrors his disintegrating
psyche - fragmentary, hallucinatory, disjointed. Harding doesn't
cushion his blows; we see Charlie in all his misery and all his
self-pity. He's no hero, but he doesn't ask for our sympathy.
I
admire the power and honesty of Harding's prose, but this is a tough
book to read, and at times I had to set it aside. But it has a
haunting beauty and I always returned to it.
