Alfred and Guinevere

Liking novels by poets is almost as esoteric an interest as that of the sacred pre-colonial landscape of New England! Be that as it may, and while I admit I am not deeply read in this "genre" there is a focus and purpose in these novels that I find different and delightful. I've read enough, [[Phillip Larkin]]'s [Jill], [[Randall Jarrell]]'s [Pictures from an Institution], and the sublime [Nest of Ninnies] - a joint effort of Schuyler and [[John Ashbery]] to name the ones that come to mind. Here, in a book written only in dialogue (shades of [[Henry Green]] and Guinevere's diary entries, the focus is on capturing daily language, what people really say. There are two children, Guinevere is between twelve and fourteen, her brother is no show more more than eight. There is uneasiness at home, mother is upset, father has gone off on a "work trip" to Europe without her. Right after Alfred recovers from appendicitis the two are packed off to Granny and Uncle Saul's. (I should add this is likely set in the 1950's). They fight, they make up, they alternate betraying and being dependent on one another. Poets are excellent at showing without blahing on -- a reason why budding writers should read spare novels written by poets. With few words, one is there, totally in the scene, surrounded by the smell of a failed lunch, the sting of an insult, the way children distance themselves from anxiety with imaginary play and acting out. Children know everything, adults really shouldn't kid themselves! Lovely! **** show less

American life through children's eyes,, 30 March 2016

This review is from: Alfred and Guinevere (New York Review Books Classics) (Paperback)
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A delicious read, told entirely in conversation between young Alfred and his rather older sister Guinevere; and in the diary of the latter.
As their parents appear to be having issues, the pair are sent off to Granny and Uncle Saul.
I particularly loved the exchanges between Guinevere and her new friends; their attempts at adult conversation, from clothes ("my ideal evening dress," Guinevere said, "is an all-raspberry chiffon with a sequin bodice and Juliet cap, slashed sleeves and an ostrich-tip fan and floating panels.") to the future ("my first ambition is show more interpretive dancing - gypsy and light-classical - and my second is hotel management") and the bitchiness that comes into their relationship when a third girl joins in.
Brilliantly observed and highly entertaining. show less

This short novel about a sister and brother and their summer has great dialogue and rings true throughout. You'll probably read it in one sitting. It is funny and entertaining, if not terribly profound. In fact, it's so non-profound that I read it a second time and never even remembered I had read it before. But it's great. I'm increasing my review to five stars!

Compulsively readable, suitable for the dinner table, this camp novel is set largely in the dialog of two children, a young boy and his (presumably) 14-15ish sister. Are children naturally campy? After all, can't we say that camp is a funny (or wry? or deliberate: and if deliberate, strike the previous suggestion) version of the uncanny? And what's more uncanny, and prone to sensations of uncanniness, than a child?

A representative bit, when Alfred wants to add something to the letter Guinevere is writing to their mother. The quote starts with what must be Guinevere:

"...What do you want to tell Mother?"
"Something short so it won't take me all day and all night to copy it. I'm thinking. I saw five cows. Are there any g's in that?"
"Wait a show more sec. No."
"Think of some more to say with g's in it. I can print good g's."

Imagine contouring your prose according to orthography! Hilarious.

It's easy to intermingle my memory of this novel with that of The Young Visitors, The Diary of Adrian Mole, and even, as one reviewer dropped below, Catcher in the Rye. show less

This is maybe a 3.5 star book. It's quite enjoyable, and the author really pegs the voices of these two precocious children. Reading passages from Guinevere's diary often felt a little like looking back at my own adolescent diary.