Pond is a collection of first-person stories, told by a woman who lives in a tiny cottage on the outskirts of a village. Every piece is full of her observations, thoughts, and the detail (sometimes microscopic) of everyday life.
Slowly, page by page, phrase by multi-layered phrase, the narrator’s character is revealed. She has secrets, she has perhaps something more than just odd habits. The sense of time is confused, as are the other people the narrator talks about. There’s a lot left for the reader to piece together and figure out about her. At the end you’re left with an impression, a feeling, more than anything else.
The narrative voice and the style are wonderfully off-key, just slightly out of tune–the feeling really is one of being trapped inside the head of someone who’s alone way too much. Or maybe trapped in a small room with that same person, and they will not stop talking at you.
Bennett does such strange and beautiful things with words. It’s like poetry, almost. You have to pay attention to every word. This isn’t one to skim. Here’s a quote, to give you an example of the voice and style:
“Look here, it’s perfectly obvious by now to anyone that my head is turned by imagined elsewheres and hardly at all by present circumstances–even so no one can know what trip is going on and on in anyone else’s mind and so, for that reason solely perhaps, the way I go about my business, such as it is, can be very confusing, bewildering, unaccountable–even, actually, offensive sometimes.”
Detailed, poetic, at times uncomfortable, Pond is a great choice if you enjoy reveling in language.
I was reminded of The Library of Unrequited Love by Sophie Divry while I was reading Pond, mostly because of the first-person, perhaps slightly unhinged narration. The Divry book is more humorous in tone, though. I also thought of The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud, for the loneliness and anger in the narrative voice, though that one is a linear story.