A Spool of Blue Thread

Anne Tyler is such a reliable novelist, you always know you're going to get at the very least, a good solid satisfying read and at best, much more than that.  A Spool of Blue Thread was shortlisted for the Booker Prize so I'm not sure why I allowed it to languish at the bottom of my wardrobe in the 'to be read eventually' pile for such a long time.

As usual we are plunged instantly into the heart of a family, their small triumphs, their hidden rivalries, their in-jokes, their heartbreaks, their myths and mysteries. There are 'two stories' the Whitshanks tell about themselves: one concerning their house, originally built for someone else, but always coveted by its builder, Junior Whitshank, and eventually acquired by him. The other story centres on (mostly absent) aunt Merrick, who schemed and plotted until she ended up with her best friend's fiancé. But both stories, seemingly about the triumph of persistence, are perhaps ultimately about disappointment, because neither the longed-for house nor the longed-for husband really live up to expectations.

The Whitshanks' story dips and swoops, looping back in time to reveal surprising secrets, dropping hints and ending with a parade of ghosts hung from the long verandah, all the ghosts that have haunted the generations who have inhabited this house. Some critics accuse Tyler of working on a small canvas (they said they same about Jane Austen), and say her novels are slow and uneventful. Those things might be true, but I sank into this novel as if into a comfortable bed on a winter's night. A Spool of Blue Thread was an utterly pleasurable read.