She walked with her back straight and her head held so high that it was as if she had studied for years to be a dancer. But though she had studied, the effortless way she carried herself had been born with her. She was a flow of color. Her hair trapped the sun and seemed to radiate light….and the way she walked was so beautiful that an angry man berated Harry for stopping on the ramp where he was oblivious of everything on account of a woman who then vanished, and left him as if struck by a blow.
Mark Helprin loves language and writes like no other novelist I know. He describes the simplest things using the most vivid imagery. True, there are times when he goes a bit over the top, but most of the time I find it an extraordinary treat to experience his writing. His story lines are interesting, and I especially liked this one, but it is his writing that mesmerizes.
This tale finds us back in Helprin’s beloved New York City where our hero, Harry Copeland has returned after WWII to run the family’s fine leather business. He had been in a Special Ops paratrooper unit in the war and saw action that forever altered the lens through which he views life. Some of the best storytelling in the book is in the flashbacks of Harry’s war years. But as the story begins, he is back in the city and while boarding a ferry to Staten Island, Harry sees Catherine Thomas Hale for the first time. As indicated in the excerpt quoted at the opening of this review, he fell hard and hopelessly at the mere sight of our heroine. She was a rising actress, but perhaps more importantly, the daughter of one of the wealthiest businessmen in the city. She was also engaged to the son of a longtime family friend and business associate. Add these realities to the fact that Harry is Jewish and romance would appear to be out of the question.
Of course this is a novel and nothing is out of the question. The story of their meeting, her jilting of the fiancé, their coming together and the costs of this choice make for a compelling read. Helprin loves to write about love, often about his treasured New York. If there is excess in this work, it is in the voluminous descriptions of Catherine as seen through the eyes of our captivated Harry. But I easily forgive him for those excesses for the privilege of enjoying the way he captures other details. Taste a few of these:
That is not to say that he was uncomfortable with privation or that he did not know that it had kept him alive and he owed it a lifelong debt of gratitude. Never would he assume, no matter what age he might be privileged to reach, that having been thrown once into war it could not happen again. And then, as time passed, he discovered more and more that the strength engendered by privation was not only a defense against death in battle, but that it had a purity and austerity that set existence ablaze. (p. 401)
Reflecting on his graduation from Harvard:
At first he thought about plans and problems, things to do and things undone, but in the end, after something had descended through the trees as invisibly as a current of cool air, after birds had been pressed out of the branches by its passing and hopped about on the ground as if puzzled, he had no thought at all, just an awareness as taut as the string of the heaviest bow. That was when he finally understood, in language that could not be uttered, that those who are alone are never alone. (p.447)
Speaking about bullets in the war:
Because they often come unpredictably and as if from nowhere, every minute and every second is filled with their possibility, which makes life seem full if only because it can so quickly become empty. (p. 470)
On air:
Like God, air is invisible, and yet you feel it’s presence when you move through it or as it presses against you when it rises. The wind is a lesson always in play, and it revealed a low ceiling of white and soot-black clouds enameled with orange light that moved along their undersides as if a painter were stroking with an unseen brush. (p. 492)
On snow:
Fluttering like a veil, it descended in confused spirals that trembled on winds channeled by high towers, the upper floors of which were drowned in cloud. As Catherine walked to the theater, snowflakes sparkled on her coat. At the lamp over the stage door they plunged into its light before the storm moved north and left the city pleasantly breathless with its first intimation of winter. (p.514)
In Sunlight and in Shadow is a marvelous story told with linguistic extravagance that delighted my soul. While filled with suspense, it rises far above the typical best sellers of this age, encouraging contemplation and imagination that require exercise of the mind while being entertained. Treat yourself to this one.
Grandy