A Home at the End of the World, by Michael Cunningham

A Home at the End of the World
Michael Cunningham

Man, was I surprised by this book. I didn’t even want to read it, really; I had purchased it awhile ago after reading a good review of it. But after reading The Hours (which was ooookay), I wasn’t enthusiastic about reading another Cunningham novel. I think that The Hours had been so hyped, and, after I had finished it, I felt that it was good as far as bestsellers go, but it wasn’t anything to rave over. So his other book has sat on a shelf, waiting for me to finally remember it was there and read it.

Fortunately, for A Home at the End of the World (or, rather, fortunately for me), I am reading a 600-page book that is so friggin slow I can hardly stand it. Just wait for THAT review. I think I’m on 200. I’ve been reading it forever now. I need a prize to finish this one, like a carrot on a stick to lead a rabbit. Or something. Ooh maybe I will buy myself something if I finish the book. But what, but what??? I know! Makeup! Or maybe earrings and a necklace!**** Ahem.

****Crap. Before I could even finish this review I got sidetracked on eBay and bought myself about 100 bucks worth of jewelry. I obviously didn’t finish the book. But I got some great deals!! Really!! One ring, two necklaces, and three pairs of earrings!! You can’t beat that! Right? Uhhh…post-purchase guilt is setting in. Now how am I going to finish that stupid book. I hate not finishing a book, so that’s not really an option.

Well, anyway, I thought that if I didn’t read something else in the meantime, I’d go insane. Enter Cunningham’s A Home at the End of the World. I started this book Sunday evening and could not put it down until I finished it Tuesday night. I was hooked before reaching the tenth page, something that (for me) portends a really great book.

The novel centers on Jonathan and Bobby, two best friends. The story of their friendship, which changes as much as it remains the same, is divided into three sections: their teens, twenties, and thirties. At times each narrates a chapter; other central characters also narrate chapters, such as Clare, the woman who loves both men, and Alice, Jonathan’s mother, but Jonathan and Bobby are really the central figures here.

Cunningham seems interested in a theme that was also integral to The Hours—how does one spend his time? And, more importantly, how does one cope with (and accept) the monotony that is imbedded in life itself? Is it better to have a passionate but fragmented and episodic existence, or a peaceful, but ordinary, routine? And what happens when the fragmented and episodic soon becomes routine? Alice chose routine but feels incomplete due to a lack of passion and excitement. Jonathan has excitement and passion but feels incomplete without a partner and a family. At the end of the novel (and I’m giving anything away here), while the characters’ lots have improved, the reader knows that they will always feel a lack in some way. We can never have everything. While this is depressing, it is also quite reassuring in a way. I think.

Cunningham’s prose is better than I remembered it being in The Hours. His sentences are poetic, but not annoyingly long or difficult as has become the trend with some contemporary writers. It doesn’t take you long to read quite a bit of this book, and you don’t feel quality has been compromised for speed.

After finishing the novel, I remembered that a film version of this novel was due out soon, and I checked its imdb page to see which stars were playing which characters. I was shocked to see that the movie came out in 2004! Where was I? The book has been sitting on my shelf for at least that long, and I think I would have noted the movie’s passing. What’s more is that Colin Farrell is in it as Bobby, and Bobby was my favorite character and I’m not sure I want him to be played by Colin. I mean, it’s thin and hot Colin, not bloated and sweaty Colin but still.

I’ll be disappointed if this movie wasn’t done correctly, and it seems likely that Hollywood botched it. First, this was the director (Michael Mayer)’s first movie. Second, Hollywood ruins most novels I like. I suppose it’s inevitable. But so much of the novel takes place in the characters’ minds, as they ponder their lives and the choices they’ve made. I don’t mean this to say that the book is boring, for it isn’t. But I don’t feel a movie can truly illustrate the monotony of everyday-ness that Cunningham illustrates in this book. In the book, this is achieved not through tedious repetition of the same episodes; Cunningham achieves this, rather, through the characters’ reflections. No character is immune to the everyday-ness, even those who have opted for instability and excitement. Even instability becomes stable over time. Anything can become routine. Hopefully that was conveyed as well in the movie as it was in the book, because it was these ideas which made the book important to me, as I can’t really relate to the non-traditional family thing.

In a nutshell: If you loved The Hours, this is better. If you didn’t like The Hours, doesn’t matter—try this one anyway. And if you’ve never read or even heard of The Hours—even better: go right past it and read A Home at the End of the World. It’s beautiful. Bobby is a beautiful character. The others are cool too. And even you are not immune to the everyday.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5.5 out of 6 stars.