Illumination Night by Alice Hoffman: a review
still magical after all these years
Illumination Night was my favorite book for a decade of my life. I’ve read it at least four times. Each time, I am enchanted. The novel tells the story of Vonny and Andre, their son Simon, Elizabeth, an old lady who lives next door, and Jody, Elizabeth’s rebellious granddaughter. There’s also a giant who hides from the world while tending chickens. All live in Chilmark on Martha’s Vineyard.
As the book begins, Vonny and Andre are at a strained time in their marriage. Their son, Simon, is abnormally short for his age and Vonny not only worries about him, she worries about everything, so much so that she becomes unable to leave the house. Andre loves Vonny, but, increasingly, he’s unable to understand her. He becomes withdrawn and spends much of his time restoring old motorcycles in the garage.
Their neighbor, seventy-three-year-old Elizabeth, is recovering from having jumped out of her upstairs window--she momentarily believed she could fly. She needs someone to care for her and chooses her 16 year old granddaughter Jody who is as reckless as wildfire. Elizabeth was never close to Jody’s mother but she and Jody meet each other’s needs as Jody finds her way to adulthood and Elizabeth finds her way to the finish of her long life.
These characters, achingly and accurately rendered, alter one another. Jody, who sometimes babysits Simon, has a disastrous lust for Andre which Vonny fears will destroy her marriage. And yet the two women become friends, united by their feelings for Simon. Simon, who watched Elizabeth jump, is determined to grow. But as he gets to know Jody and the Giant, his perspective on growing up begins to expand. As for the Giant and Jody, well, their relationship will remake them both.
Hoffman explores the connections and conflicts in desire and danger, love and death, laughter and tears, fear and contentment. Her empathy for her characters is unparalleled. For years Hoffman has been dismissed as something less than a serious author--and, yes, I blame the patriarchy--and that’s always pissed me off. Over the past five decades, she’s mined the myriad magic of women’s lives using language that verges on poetry. I don’t always love her books, but they’re a damn sight better than the endless NYT best-sellers, too often penned by those who believe that love, joy, and kindness themselves are fairy tales. Hoffman knows they’re not, that every life has the potential for beauty and wonder. I’ve read most of her books and many are excellent. This one, to me, is one of her very best.