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“It’s an immense night out there, wheeling and windy. The lights on the street and in the houses against the black wetness, little unilluminating glints that might be painted on it. The town seems huddled together, cowering on a high tiny perch, afraid to move lest it topple into the wind.”
The town is Horizon, the setting of Sinclair Ross’ brilliant classic study of life in the Depression era. Hailed by critics as one of Canada’s great novels, As For Me and My House takes the form of a journal. The unnamed diarist, one of the most complex and arresting characters in contemporary fiction, explores the bittersweet nature of human relationships, of the unspoken bonds that tie people together, and the undercurrents of feeling that often tear them apart. Her chronicle creates an intense atmosphere, rich with observed detail and natural imagery.
As For Me and My House is a landmark work. It is essential reading for anyone who seeks to understand the scope and power of the Canadian novel.
- Sales Rank: #1499474 in Books
- Brand: Brand: New Canadian Library
- Published on: 2008-01-08
- Released on: 2008-01-08
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 7.73" h x .66" w x 5.09" l, .61 pounds
- Binding: Paperback
- 248 pages
- Used Book in Good Condition
From the Inside Flap
?It?s an immense night out there, wheeling and windy. The lights on the street and in the houses against the black wetness, little unilluminating glints that might be painted on it. The town seems huddled together, cowering on a high tiny perch, afraid to move lest it topple into the wind.?
The town is Horizon, the setting of Sinclair Ross? brilliant classic study of life in the Depression era. Hailed by critics as one of Canada?s great novels, As For Me and My House takes the form of a journal. The unnamed diarist, one of the most complex and arresting characters in contemporary fiction, explores the bittersweet nature of human relationships, of the unspoken bonds that tie people together, and the undercurrents of feeling that often tear them apart. Her chronicle creates an intense atmosphere, rich with observed detail and natural imagery.
As For Me and My House is a landmark work. It is essential reading for anyone who seeks to understand the scope and power of the Canadian novel.
About the Author
Sinclair Ross was born on a homestead near Shelbrooke in northern Saskatchewan in 1908. He dropped out of school after grade eleven to work in a bank. After working in many small-town banks in Saskatchewan, he transferred to a bank in Winnipeg in 1933. In 1941 he published his first novel, As For Me and My House, with its evocation of prairie life during the Depression. The prairie is the major setting for his two collections of short fiction, The Lamp at Noon and Other Stories and The Race and Other Stories.
From 1942 until 1946 Ross served with the Canadian army in London, England. In 1946 he returned briefly to Winnipeg before settling in Montreal, where he continued in banking until his retirement in 1968.
Ross’ later novels, The Well, Whir of Gold, and Sawbones Memorial, continue his exploration of prairie life and its power to challenge as well as sustain its inhabitants.
Upon his retirement Ross lived in Greece and then in Spain. He returned to Montreal in 1980, and two years later moved to Vancouver.
Sinclair Ross died in Vancouver in 1996.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Saturday Evening, April 8
Philip has thrown himself across the bed and fallen asleep, his clothes on still, one of his long legs dangling to the floor. . . .
He looks old and worn-out tonight; and as I stood over him a little while ago his face brought home to me how he shrinks from another town, how tired he is, and heartsick of it all. I ran my fingers through his hair, then stooped and kissed him. Lightly, for that is of all things what I mustn’t do, let him ever suspect me of being sorry. He’s a very adult, selfsufficient man, who can’t bear to be fussed or worried over; and sometimes, broodless old woman that I am, I get impatient being just his wife, and start in trying to mother him too.
His sermon for tomorrow is spread out on the little table by the bed, the text that he always uses for his first Sunday. As For Me and My House We Will Serve the Lord. It’s a stalwart, four-square, Christian sermon. It nails his colors to the mast. It declares to the town his creed, lets them know what they may expect. The Word of God as revealed in Holy Writ — Christ Crucified — salvation through His Grace — those are the things that Philip stands for.
And as usual he’s been drawing again. I turned over the top sheet, and sure enough on the back of it there was a little Main Street sketched. It’s like all the rest, a single row of smug, false-fronted stores, a loiterer or two, in the distance the prairie again. And like all the rest there’s something about it that hurts. False fronts ought to be laughed at, never understood or pitied. They’re such outlandish things, the front of a store built up to look like a second storey. They ought always to be seen that way, pretentious, ridiculous, never as Philip sees them, stricken with a look of self-awareness and futility.
That’s Philip, though, what I must recognize and acknowledge as the artist in him. Sermon and drawing together, they’re a kind of symbol, a summing up. The smalltown preacher and the artist — what he is and what he nearly was — the failure, the compromise, the going-on — it’s all there — the discrepancy between the man and the little niche that holds him.
And that hurt too, made me slip away furtively and stand a minute looking at the dull bare walls, my shoulders drawn up round my ears to resist their cold damp stillness. And huddling there I wished for a son again, a son that I might give back a little of what I’ve taken from him, that I might at least believe I haven’t altogether wasted him, only postponed to another generation his fulfillment. A foolish, sentimental wish that I ought to have outgrown years ago — that drove me outside at last, to stand on the doorstep shivering, my lips locked, a spatter of rain in my face.
It’s an immense night out there, wheeling and windy. The lights on the street and in the houses are helpless against the black wetness, little unilluminating glints that might be painted on it. The town seems huddled together, cowering on a high, tiny perch, afraid to move lest it topple into the wind. Close to the parsonage is the church, black even against the darkness, towering ominously up through the night and merging with it. There’s a soft steady swish of rain on the roof, and a gurgle of eavestroughs running over. Above, in the high cold night, the wind goes swinging past, indifferent, liplessly mournful. It frightens me, makes me feel lost, dropped on this little perch of town and abandoned. I wish Philip would waken.
Most helpful customer reviews
5 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
Wind, Earth and Dust
By Divinia
As For Me and My House provides a descriptive tale about a preacher and his wife during the depression. Written by the hand of the wife, who remains nameless, the book incorporates vast imagery to help portray the feeble lifestyle they were trapped within. Mr. Bentley, unable to motivate himself to move beyond his unsatisfying profession as a preacher, lives in unhappiness, bringing his wife into oppression with him. Animal imagery is prevalent, as the town and its people are described in such terms. They all cower and protect themselves; with the exception of Judith, who "scales the wind" at the beginning until she discovers her own sexuality and becomes the earth....Can air continue to have 'life' when submersed into the ground?
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
An underappreciated masterpiece
By Wilfred Cude
This work is a compact literary masterpiece, understated, subtle, but ultimately brilliantly clear, one fairly ranked with the finest achievements in the English language. Ross has given us a perfectly rendered instance of the sympathetic but somewhat pathetically unreliable first-person narrator, her rationalizations resonating awkwardly against all the evidence she also inadvertently introduces, evidence that undercuts her perception of the story she tells and reveals a far more complex understanding of the manner in which our passions drive us in ways we only dimly comprehend.
2 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
An excellent--but not great--Canadian novel
By K Scheffler
Whether As For Me and My House can be considered one of the "great Canadian novels" is somewhat questionable, but there is no denying that it is a profound, complex and evocative work of literature.
Set during the Great Depression, the story revolves around the domestic life of the Bentleys, who have come to a small, isolated Saskatchewan farm-community of Horizon, where Philip Bentley has taken on role of being the town's new minister.
Ministering is something that Philip, in fact has little desire to do, and is instead obsessed with painting, to the point where his wife--through whose perspective the story is told--is neglected. There relationship is essentially broken, but the reasons for this are not simple, and this essentially is the focus of the story.
Throughout the novel, Mrs. Bentley--who is never named because the work is written in the form of journal entries--continuously explores their history, their personalities and the effect of their confined lifestyle upon themselves and one another.
Over the course of their residence in Horizon she comes to realize that the break-down of their relationship, is not so much the fault of Philip's conduct, as we are first led to believe, but fact that both have allowed themsleves to become victims of circumstance.
As For Me and My House is definitely a work worth studying, but like I initially stated, I question whether it can really be considered one of the great Canadian novels.
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