Amy Bloom’s “Silver Water” read like a eulogy, of sorts. In the first sentence, it is revealed to us by our narrator that this story will be looking back on the life of someone who has probably passed away by the time we are reading it (based on verb tense). But as the plot unfolds, we see a story of both great pain and great love that leads us to an ending that we are at peace with, somehow, despite the death of a character we’ve come to know.
Quite a few aspects of “Silver Water” create this odd tension between suffering and joy. Firstly, the story is coated with beautiful, colorful imagery that invited all of the senses (silver and gold voices, the espresso/cappuccino skin, etc). Especially in the more joyful sections, we’re given this imagery to remind us that this family and these individuals live lives in color, despite the obvious stresses that they endure. The narrator, Violet, picks these beautiful moments in Rose’s life to share with us, revealing her own nature, Rose’s character, and their family dynamic.
Perhaps this imagery is what builds the most tension in the story. Rose’s meltdown in the kitchen is so horrific, not because she is “monstrous,” but because we have had the privilege of seeing her at her best. Not only does this scene startle us as readers, but we are quickly led back to safety by the image of Galen resting her head against David’s hip while drinking a hot cup of tea. Our narrator protects us from the harshness of this family’s reality by choosing to remind us of how much love they pour into each other.
I believe strongly in the idea that we have the privilege of getting to choose how we tell our stories and the stories of those around us, which means that we have the responsibility to choose wisely. “Silver Water” reinforces this concept in my mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment