I AM HOMELESS IF THIS IS NOT MY HOME by Lorrie Moore — reviewed by Stella
I Am Homeless If This Is Not My Home by Lorrie Moore — reviewed by Stella
An enigmatic novel that is as compelling as its title. My first encounter with Lorrie Moore was another wonderfully entitled work, Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? This was her second novel, published in the mid-90s, and revolved around a middle-aged woman’s bittersweet nostalgia for her young adolescent self. Centred around an amusement park the ferris wheel featured largely, always looming in the backdrop. I remember it for its sharp writing and keen observation. Moore’s fourth novel, I Am Homeless If This Is Not My Home, is even more closely observed and has such verve. It’s a wild ride — elegiac and metaphysical. It’s intriguing and mystifying. Just as you start to pin it down it whirls off, angling towards something just beyond. It’s 2016. America is tipping itself into the abyss. Finn, a teacher on enforced leave (his state of mind is far from perfect), is attending to his brother at a hospice until he is called away by a call from his ex-girlfriend’s book group chum. But wait! The first chapter is a million miles from this. Someone is writing a letter. The language is arcane. The tone familial. It’s a letter to her dear sister. As we read on, we deduce that the letter-penner is the landlady of a boarding house near the close of the American Civil War. It’s a letter of complaint and later (more letters follow interspersed with Finn’s story) confessional about her interactions with one of her lodgers and his eventual death. And death or, more accurately, loss, is at the centre of this novel. Finn is lost, his brother is losing the battle to stay alive, his ex-girlfriend, Lily, is in limbo — well, actually, she is undead, and the landlady’s confession reveals a death. Sounds a bit glum? Well, it’s not. It’s hilariously funny in the way that the macabre can be and the relationship between Finn and Lily (after she’s risen out of the dirt, a few worms in situ, from the green cemetery) is charged with energy and, dare I say it, life, as they embark on a road trip to find her final resting place. The dialogue throughout the novel, whether it’s Finn clumsily attempting to cheer up his brother, the banter about how Lily looks in her undead guise, or the landlady’s dismissal of her lodger, is sharp and sparking with energy. The observations of human weakness, kindness, and contempt (Lily is a thorny prospect dead or alive), are wry and sometimes devastating. On these lunatic fringes, we are all standing on the edge watching others go before us. Moore reminds us we might fall in. But then again, we could always go home.