Source/Version: Library – recommended by Tracey Allen of
Carpe Librum
Score: 6.5/10
An LDS family of six starts an ordinary Saturday, only for
their world to tumble to pieces when the youngest child dies. Told over
multiple months and from the points of view of all the remaining family
members, this is an exquisite consideration of the messy, hilarious and
crushing complications and effects of grief personally, within a family, and on
faith.
I usually find books which try to deal with grief AND faith to
be heavy handed, humourless and simpering sincerely that prayer really IS the
answer to the awfulness of the tragedy being experienced – like being stuck in
a room painted in some bland Celestial Off-White gloop until you finish the
book or throw it across the room in disgust or misery. A Song For Issy Bradley
is, in comparison, coming out of your bedroom one morning to find your
loungeroom has been spray-painted to show a gorgeous sunset above your entire
neighbourhood’s smouldering ruins.
The characters are the dad, who is the Bishop of the
congregation, his wife who is constantly reminded she is a convert (more than a
decade ago), their teenage daughter and son, and the youngest son and daughter
who are both in primary school. The expectations of their church community are
realistically depicted, as well as the movement of ebbs and flows, doubts and
habits, prayer and observances throughout all the family in different amounts
and ways.
In fact, this book has the best response to the appalling
sexual purity lessons often taught, and is one I will no doubt be quoting and
using in the future:
Sister Campbell likes object lessons… Last night she reached
into her home-made scripture case to pull out a stick of Wrigley’s Doublemint
gum. ‘Who would like this?’
No one said anything. Everyone suspected a trick.
‘You would, wouldn’t you, Zipporah?’
Zippy shook her head but then though better of it and
nodded. Sister Campbell stripped away the foil wrapping, put the gum in her own
mouth and chewed loudly.
‘Mmm. Delicious.’ She reached into her mouth and pulled out
the chewed gum. ‘There you are Zipporah,’ she said. ‘Come on up and get it, it’s
all yours.’
Zippy gave a surprised laugh and a couple of other people
joined in.
‘It’s no laughing matter. These are the fruits of sexual
immorality.’ Sister Campbell held the gum out and shook her hand for emphasis. ‘Who
wants the dirty, chewed gum?’
The laughter stopped. Mum whispered something to Dad, who
shook his head. Mum poked him, and when he ignored her, she stood up. Zippy
assumed she was popping out to go to the loo, but she stepped forward and
joined Sister Campbell. They stood side by side, Mum nervously twizzling her
wedding ring as Sister Campbell’s face set into an expression hard enough to
chop wood.
Mum’s voice trembled and the air in the room was suddenly
thinned by held breath. ‘I don’t mean to cause contention, but…’ She grabbed the
sticky ball from Sister Campbell’s fingers and put it into her mouth.
Everyone breathed out at once.
‘Yum,’ Mum said, her jaw working determinedly. She looked
like a contestant from I’m a Celebrity,
munching on a testicle. ‘Repentance is delicious. Forgiveness tastes wonderful,
too. You’d never know anyone had eaten this before. It’s still lovely and
minty.’
Sister Campbell’s cheeks went red and she held out her hand,
but Mum ignored her and carried on chomping. Finally, she removed the gum from
her mouth and placed it on Sister Campbell’s upturned palm. Then she sat back
down beside Dad.
Sister Campbell held her hand out. ‘Would anyone else like a
chew?'
Poor Sister Valentine was in agony. She looked from Sister
Campbell to Mum and back again, uncertain as to whether it was best to
emphasise the cleansing power of repentance or the diabolical nature of sin.
(p. 28-30)
A Song For Issy Bradley captures family tensions, expectations,
politics and disappointments well, without laziness or use of stereotype. The
religious observances and faith of the family is not explained away or used as
a proselyting tool – there is no heavy-handed message for the reader to have stamped
in their forehead as they read. Love, faith and grief are presented in their
natural, messy, complicated and encompassing forms, with a welcome lack of Sunday
School answers or happily ever afters.
She should beg and plead, find the right words; words that will release the magic of healing and bind Issy tomortality before it's too late, but all she can think of is please. Please, please, please... So feeble, she knows it won't work. She needs more, a game-changing word, one she can shout through the hospital ceiling to the deity that is preparing to steal her daughter. A word like Rumpelstiltskin, a word which will overpower and break him. (p. 64)
There should be stories where the answer is no. There should
be stories where children pray for lost rabbits that never turn up and then
people might get used to it and know what to do next: he doesn’t know. He has
prayed and blessed and waited, he’s done everything you have to do to get a
miracle. If he can’t bring Issy back, the only way to see her again is to be
good for his whole, entire life, which means he’s go to fix his lie. (p. 406)
Every family member’s grief is given consideration, nobody’s
experience is dismissed due to age, emotion, responsibilities or understanding –
and this is what gives this novel such emotive punch.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘Issy’s going to be dead for my whole, entire life, isn’t
she?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s sad, isn’t it?’
Ian can’t trust his voice. He nods.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘I know I’ll see her again and everything, but I’ll be grown
up by then, so it’s not that good, is it? We were going to get grown up
together, and now I’ll be getting grown up by myself.’
Perhaps if he was a better Bishop, a better father, he would
know what to say. (p. 414)
A Song For Issy Bradley surprised me. It deftly avoids the easy
path of platitudes and bland encouragements, instead it sinks down into the mud
of a family’s grief and shows each handful, bugs, snot and all. It’s not a
comfortable read, but tales of loss and tragedy shouldn’t be comfortable. It is
painful, and funny, and pinches in unexpected places, like good, honest stories
do.
Literary/wordcraft notes:
The use of chapters/sections for different points of view
was effective, and the individual tone for each family member was deftly done. The
voices of the family’s four children were obviously different to those of the
parents, both in complexity of thought and with frames of reference and
description (‘Issy… wonders if part of her has popped in the night, like a
balloon.’ p. 18). The use of third person omniscient narrative added clarity
(in terms of who’s point of view is being read), as well as an unbiased
distance which allowed all characters to be considered and examined equally.
No assumption was made as to the reader’s knowledge of
theology, or even of LDS Doctrine, so while there was no pause-for-prolonged-explanation,
neither was there skirting around fundamental doctrines or practises – the reader
was given only the information that the character would think/say. This is one
of the best “faith in real life with no exposition” I’ve read.
Rated: PG14 – big issues like death, grief, parental
mistakes, faith struggles, guilt and humanity.
Recommended to:
Anyone who sees more greys in life than black or white
Those who aren’t threatened by those who see more greys in
life than black or white
Anyone who sees faith as living and encompassing, not static
and strict
Those who know – or are coming to know – life is a
beautiful, painful, gorgeous mess
Those who like reality and human-ness in their fiction
Bookclubs which aren't afraid of discussion
Not recommended for:
Anyone who believes “You just need to
pray/fast/hope/believe/eat organic/repent more” is absolutely perfect as an
answer to any trial/tragedy/headache/heartbreak/doubt
Those who like happily-ever-after stories, tied up in sweet
little bows
Anyone who doesn’t have someone to talk to about books they’re
reading – you’ll want to discuss this one (if you don’t have anyone, I’ll talk
books with you!)
If you like the sound of this book, I also recommend:
Prayers for Sale – Sandra Dallas
Love Letters of the Angels of Death – Jennifer Quist
Perfect Neighbors –DeAnne Neilson
Categories:
Death, grief, families, LDS characters, faith
