By Margaret Laurence
In The Stone Angel, Hagar Shipley, age 90, tells the tale of her lifestyles, and in doing so attempts to return to phrases with how the very characteristics which sustained her have disadvantaged her of pleasure. Mingling previous and current, she continues satisfaction within the face of senility, whereas recalling the existence she led as a rebellious younger bride, and later as a grieving mom. Laurence offers us in Hagar a girl who's humorous, infuriating, and heartbreakingly poignant.
"This is a revelation, now not impersonation. The impression of such expert use of language is to guide the reader in the direction of the self-recognition that Hagar misses."—Robertson Davies, New York Times
"It is [Laurence's] admirable fulfillment to strike, with an both yes contact, the extraordinary observe and the common; she provides us a portrait of a striking personality and even as the image of previous age itself, with the soreness, the weariness, the fear, the impotent angers and actual mishaps, the belief that others are ready and wishing for an end."—Honor Tracy, The New Republic
"Miss Laurence is the simplest fiction author within the Dominion and the most effective within the hemisphere."—Atlantic
"[Laurence] demonstrates in The Stone Angel that she has a real novelist's reward for catching a personality in mid-passion and lifestyles at complete flood. . . . As [Hagar Shipley] daydreams and chatters and lurches in the course of the novel, she lines some of the most convincing—and the main touching—portraits of an unregenerate sinner declining into senility due to the fact Sara Monday went to her gift in Joyce Cary's The Horse's Mouth."—Time
"Laurence's triumph is in her evocation of Hagar at 90. . . . We sympathize together with her in her resistance to being moved to a nursing domestic, in her preposterous flight, in her impatience within the clinic. Battered, depleted, pain, she rages along with her final breath opposed to the loss of life of the sunshine. The Stone Angel is an outstanding novel, admirably written and sustained by means of unfailing insight."—Granville Hicks, Saturday Review
"The Stone Angel is an effective booklet simply because Mrs. Laurence avoids sentimentality and condescension; Hagar Shipley remains to be passionately enthusiastic about the puzzle of her personal nature. . . . Laurence's imaginitive tact is strikingly at paintings, for absolutely this is often what it sounds like to be old."—Paul Pickrel, Harper's
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Extra resources for The Stone Angel (Phoenix Fiction)
At the least he used to be there,” I say. at the least he went to him. ” “Oh God, yes,” Marvin says seriously. “He went, alright. ” “Marv—” Doris places in. “Let’s keep on with the purpose, eh? It’s not easy adequate, with out citing all that historic heritage. ” historic background certainly. “You make me ailing and drained. I won’t cross. I won’t visit that position. You’ll no longer get me to agree. ” “You’ve received an appointment with the medical professional subsequent week,” Marvin says. “We don’t are looking to strength the problem, mom, but when health practitioner Corby thinks you might want to go—” Can they strength me? i look from one to the opposite, and spot they're united opposed to me. Their faces are set, unyielding. i'm now not definite of my rights. what's correct and what rights have I? am i able to receive criminal recommendation opposed to a son? How could i'm going approximately it? a reputation from the phone listing? it's been goodbye due to the fact I handled that sort of factor. “If you're making me move there, you’re purely signing my dying warrant, i am hoping that’s transparent to you. I’d now not final a month, now not per week, I inform you—” They stand transfixed through my thundering voice. after which, simply while I’ve won this flooring, I falter. My entire hulk shakes, the blubber prancing up and down upon my rib cage, and that i betray myself in shameful tears. “How am i able to go away my condo, my issues? It’s mean—it’s suggest of you—oh, what something to do. ” “Hush, hush,” says Marvin. “There, there,” says Doris. “Don’t tackle. ” I see, recuperating myself a bit and peeking in the course of the arms fanned earlier than my face, that i've got worried them. strong. It serves them correct. i'm hoping they’re scared to loss of life. “We won’t say any longer correct now,” Marvin says. “We’ll see. in a while, good see. Now, don’t get all dissatisfied, mom. ” “I’d was hoping to settle it,” Doris bleats. “It’s rattling close to midnight,” Marvin says. “I gotta visit paintings the next day to come. ” She sees the instant has handed, so she makes the simplest of it, turns into attentive, plumps the pillows on my mattress. “You get an excellent sleep, then,” she says to me. “We’ll talk about it whilst we’re none people labored up. ” Marvin is going. She is helping me into my nightdress. the way it irks me to need to take her hand, enable her to tug my gown over my head, undo my corsets and strip them off me, and feature her see my blue-veined swollen flesh and the furry triangle that also declares with lunatic insistence a non-existent womanhood. “Good night,” she says. “Sleep good. ” Sleep good. Sleep in any respect, after this night? I flip from one aspect to the opposite. Nowhere is correct, and my eyes stay open large. ultimately I sink as if into layers and deeper layers of mist or delirium, right into a part awakeness. Then i'm jerked alert by means of one of many strutting shadows inhabiting the grey quarter the place I lie drearily begging the mercy of sleep. The soaking pungent sheets, the shadow insinuates, in Doris’s voice. Then, simply whilst i'm afraid to sleep, for what might ensue, sleep desires to conquer me. I tussle with it, bid it begone, fidget and fuss so i could no longer yield. The result—my ft get cramps, and my ft are drawn up into knots. i have to get away from bed. i can't locate the bedside lamp.