Emily Ruskovich

A really interesting, dark, and off-the-grid (multiple narrators and non-contiguous time frames) look at loss and the part memory plays in that. At the story's base there's a murder—a matricide—but it isn't there to be solved, although one of the protagonists invests much energy in getting at its emotional core. Rather, there are a lot of twinnings that are pulled apart and the wound examined—sisters growing apart, parents and lost (both figuratively and literally) children, marriages, show more unconventional friendships, even an amputated leg wracked with phantom and emotional pain. Ruskovich stays on the side of the implicit, rather than spelling out her connections, and this makes for a tension that carries the book through what might otherwise be a distracting series of time and POV jumps. It's a dark story—not sure why it's been marketed as a thriller or mystery, since it's neither—filled with some lovely writing about the natural world and the small internal shifts its characters make. Maybe a bit heavy on the latter, but mostly the book is satisfying. Very different from much of what I've read this year. show less

Such an extraordinary and haunting tale

I truly didn’t want this book to end. At its heart is the story of a tragic act, but it’s so much more than just that act. Each chapter is a literary work of art. There’s the story of Wade and Jenny and their two daughters, June and May, and the terrible act that tore them apart. There’s the story of Wade and Ann and her efforts to heal his broken heart and mind. There’s the story of Wade and his father and the health issue they share. show more There’s the story of June and May, two young sisters living their lives in the days before tragedy strikes. There’s the story of the friendship between Jenny and Elizabeth. There’s the story of a young boy who loses his leg in a freak accident. Each of these stories are tied together but each is worthy of its own telling.

The story is not told in a linear fashion. The chapters travel between present, past and future but are not confusing in any way. Time weaves back and forth to create a beautiful mosaic. All is tied together – love, forgiveness, regrets, memory, imagination. Ms. Ruskovich’s book deserves every award I’m sure it will get. This is one of my favorite books of the year. Most highly recommended.

This book was given to me by the publisher through NetGalley in return for an honest review. show less

Ann, eine junge Klavierlehrerin, heiratet Wade, der ein Jahr zuvor auf dramatische Weise seine Töchter verlor, während seine Exfrau im Gefängnis sitzt. Doch damit nicht genug, leidet er wie sein Vater und Großvater an Demenz, die ihn bereits im vergleichsweise jungen Alter befällt. Einerseits ein Segen angesichts der schrecklichen Vorkommnisse, andererseits wird ihm immer wieder schmerzlich bewusst, wie nach und nach seine Töchter in Vergessenheit geraten. Ann versucht derweil anhand show more der Fundstücke im Haus (Fotos, Kleinigkeiten wie Spielzeug, Haargummis etc.), sich selbst ein Bild von dem damaligen Geschehen zu machen.
Auch wenn die Geschichte zu Beginn wie ein Krimi erscheinen mag, ist es alles andere als das. Zwar wird eine unglaubliche Spannung im Hinblick auf die tatsächlichen Ereignisse am Berg aufgebaut, denen man sich langsam aus unterschiedlichen Richtungen nähert. Doch tatsächlich wird damit (wie auch mit anderen Geschehnissen) deutlich gemacht, wie sehr Vorstellung und Phantasie die Vergangenheit bestimmen, die sich wiederum auf die Gegenwart auswirken können. Ann ist beispielsweise immer mehr davon überzeugt, eine Mitschuld an diesem Unglück zu haben, was sie in große Gewissensbisse stürzt.
Das Buch verlangt ein aufmerksames Lesen, denn die Perspektiven wechseln häufig zwischen verschiedenen Personen, sodass man bei einer gewissen Achtlosigkeit schnell die Übersicht verlieren kann, was Realität und was Imagination ist. Zudem ist die Sprache trotz der überaus düsteren Atmosphäre sehr poetisch, für die man sich Zeit nehmen sollte. Die Autorin hat ein Gefühl für gelungene Beschreibungen wie beispielsweise beim Thema Briefe '..., zum Verschließen angeleckt von den Zungen der Vergangenheit.' (S. 73) oder 'Morgen früh, wenn Gott will, wirst Du wieder geweckt. Man kann es singen, so sanft man will, die Worte fletschen trotzdem die Zähne. Gott will nicht immer.' (S.101).
Gewiss ist es kein Gute-Laune-Buch oder lockere Unterhaltung für die Strandliege. Dafür aber eine spannende Lektüre, die Anregungen zum Umgang mit der eigenen Vergangenheit und den Erinnerungen daran liefert. show less

The title says, "Idaho - A Novel". I think the last bit is an assertion of intent meant to guide people like me who reach the end of the book knowing that I'd read something wonderful but not really being able to label it.

Each chapter in "Idaho" is a work of art. Emily Ruskovich can write in a way that makes you fully aware of how a particular person is experiencing something that is vivid and immediate but also ladened with context and possibility.

At one point she even helped me see inside show more the head of a blood hound on a search, head down, ears and folds of skin dampening all other stimuli except the hundreds of scents that contain the one scent I am looking for.

It seemed to me, that for much of the novel, I had become that blood hound and that each chapter was a scrap of fabric, soaked in sorrow, confusion, regret, guilt, love and, occasionally hope, that I would bend over and sniff at until I had extract every scent of emotion and traced the trails of circumstance, intent, memory and consequence that connect the chapters and the people in them.

It is an intense, absorbing experience that speaks to senses, my emotions but, by itself, does not satisfy my need for a narrative leading to some form of release. The non-linear nature of this narrative, the emphasis on moments of being and intense but bounded insights into a person, meant that reading "Idaho" felt more like experiencing other people's lives than it did reading a novel with a beginning, a middle and an end. I was given lots of hard, emotionally taxing questions but I was offered only the inference of answers, much as I am in real life.

There is a narrative. It is triggered by an act of violence that changes the lives of almost all of the characters in the book. Revealing this narrative in a non-linear way is not done to enhance the tension or to build to a great reveal, but to show that we are not the events that we live through. They can harm us or help us but the self we bring to each moment is what shapes the outcome of an event.

I'm sorry if that sounds obscure. Emily Ruskovich would never say anything so clumsily as that. It is merely me, trying to find meaning in what I was reading.

In "Idaho" I spent time seeing the world through the eyes of many people: May, a six year old girl living an isolated rural life in which her most intense relationship is with June, her older sister, whom she simultaneously loves and resents; Elizabeth, spending her life in prison for murder and trying to allow herself friendship and perhaps even love; Jenny, a woman who is trying to abnegate her right to anything she desires but who cannot stop herself from offering something of herself to others; Wade, a man who has survived tragedy and guilt and love but who is losing himself with each memory that slips out of reach; and Anne, who falls lives a life of sorrow-filled love that she does not feel entitled to cut herself free from.

I will remember these people for a long time. I will remember their joys and their pain and their ability to survive as long as they are remembered by someone, even if it is only themselves. I will remember the mountain they lived on and how its wildness and isolation and unforgiving winters shaped them like wind eroding sandstone.

Yet I still struggle with "Idaho" as "a novel". Probably this says more about my expectations than about Emily Ruskovich's writing but it changed my experience of the book. If "Idaho" had been a collection of short stories, I'd have gone, "How wonderful. This is like reading Alice Munro" but it was labelled a novel so I found myself expecting more connection.

The best example of what I mean is a character in this book, a young man who loses his leg through an accident in high school, who's experiences and thoughts are beautifully described but who seems to have only the most tangential connection to the other people in the book. I invested my imagination in him. I didn't like him but I began to understand him. Yet I couldn't make him fit and my inability to do so distracted and annoyed me.

I strongly recommend this book, novel or not. The writing is simply wonderful. The experiences are harrowing but in a way that made me more empathetic than horrified.

I am astonished that this is Emily Ruskovich's debut novel. I look forward to reading everything else that she writes.

I listened to the audio book version of "Idaho" which is read with consummate skill by Justine Eyre. She helped my hound dog follow the scent trails in the this book much more easily and with more passion than I had only read the text. show less