Margot Livesey's latest work of fiction, "The House on Fortune Street," is comprised of four sections marked with graceful titles that only hint at the poignant nature of the scenes they contain.
Each is concerned with one of the four primary characters whom Livesey skillfully conveys through the use of both first and third person voices.
Each section unabashedly constructs the landscape of the characters' lives. Livesey crafts their interiors and demonstrates how each person's complexities, private or otherwise, have a concentric effect on their surroundings and the people they love or are bound to.
It is appropriate to note, before diving into the difficult lives of her characters, that Livesey is Bowdoin's John F. and Dorothy H. Magee Writer-in-Residence. Livesey, who is Scottish, went to university in England. "The House on Fortune Street" is located on the British Isles so students can only speculate as to whether the winters of Maine gave her the snowbound solitude she needed to write her strong novel.
"The House on Fortune Street" can be seen as a novel that pivots on a central character, Dara. She is the daughter of Cameron, to whom the second section is dedicated, and the good friend of Abigail. Sean, who is living with Abigail upstairs from Dara, is the one to discover the result of Dara's unhappiness.
Each of these people are given space for their interiors in Livesey's novel. She makes the isolation of self-hood candidly clear. Each person is a labyrinth teeming with his or her own concerns. The characters' pasts and presents affect those they are connected to in ways that are largely, but not entirely, beyond their control.
Sean is the first character the reader is introduced to, and his introduction sets a dark stage. Sean is struggling with his work as a scholar; he is confronted with a block in his progress while Abigail succeeds at theater. Sean left his marriage for his romance with Abigail but finds himself distanced from her. This gap is compounded by a letter that suggests she is having an affair.
Cameron, who tells his story in the first person, pulls the reader backward into Dara's childhood. He has a complicated fascination with Ingrid, his daughter's friend. Cameron takes beautiful photos of the child. His absorption has distinct Humbert Humbert undertones, but he is depicted with sympathy. He is an almost harmless, ordinary man. He never technically does anything untoward, yet his interests dissolve his marriage, and his excision from his daughter's life has a weighty impact.
Dara, a tender character, bruises easily. She enters into a love affair with a married man while trying to find a niche of warmth for herself.
While such entanglements often have predictably tragic results, Abigail models a success story of rearranged affections and Dara tries to imitate her friend's success. The two girls draw together at university, but the entirety of their friendship is imbalanced: Dara is loving while Abigail is ambitious and self-interested. I found Abigail to be the least sympathetic character. She wraps herself more tightly in her desires at the moment when Dara needs her most.
Livesey makes clear the extent to which each of her characters is flawed. None of them seem able to reach beyond themselves, but Abigail's betrayal feels the most callous.
Livesey has a strong grip on our effects on one another. Her illustration of a parent's impact on his or her child recalls the sentiment of Philip Larkin's poem "This Be the Verse": "They f-ck you up, your mum and dad. / They may not mean to, but they do." Livesey does not echo Larkin's dismissive tone, but she does excavate the rocky landscape of familial relationships and probes the accountability of friendship.
Livesy returns to Bowdoin on Monday to read. The event will be held in Lancaster Lounge, Moulton Union, at 4:30 p.m.