The Gravedigger's Daughter
Joyce Carol Oates, 2007
HarperCollins
624 pp.
ISBN-13: 9780061236839
Summary
In 1936 the Schwarts, an immigrant family desperate to escape Nazi Germany, settle in a small town in upstate New York, where the father, a former high school teacher, is demeaned by the only job he can get: gravedigger and cemetery caretaker. After local prejudice and the family's own emotional frailty result in unspeakable tragedy, the gravedigger's daughter, Rebecca, begins her astonishing pilgrimage into America, an odyssey of erotic risk and imaginative daring, ingenious self-invention, and, in the end, a bittersweet—but very "American"—triumph. "You are born here, they will not hurt you"—so the gravedigger has predicted for his daughter, which will turn out to be true.
In The Gravedigger's Daughter, Oates has created a masterpiece of domestic yet mythic realism, at once emotionally engaging and intellectually provocative: an intimately observed testimony to the resilience of the individual to set beside such predecessors as The Falls, Blonde, and We Were the Mulvaneys. (From the publisher.)
Author Bio
• Birth—June 16, 1938
• Where—Lockport, New York, USA
• Education—B.A., Syracuse Univ.; M.A., Univ. of Wisconsin
• Awards—National Book Award for Them, 1970; 14 O. Henry
Awards; six Pushcart Prizes
• Currently—lives in Princeton, New Jersey
Joyce Carol Oates is one of the most influential and important storytellers in the literary world. She has often used her supreme narrative skills to examine the dark side of middle-class Americana, and her oeuvre includes some of the finest examples of modern essays, plays, criticism, and fiction from a vast array of genres. She is still publishing with a speed and consistency of quality nearly unheard of in contemporary literature.
A born storyteller, Oates has been spinning yarns since she was a little girl too young to even write. Instead, she would communicate her stories through drawings and paintings. When she received her very first typewriter at the age of 14, her creative floodgates opened with a torrent. She says she wrote "novel after novel" throughout high school and college— a prolificacy that has continued unabated throughout a professional career that began in 1963 with her first short story collection, By the North Gate.
Oates's breakthrough occurred in 1969 with the publication of Them, a National Book Award winner that established her as a force to be reckoned with. Since that auspicious beginning, she has been nominated for nearly every major literary honor —from the PEN/Faulkner Award to the Pulitzer Prize—and her fiction turns up with regularity on the New York Times annual list of Notable Books.
On average Oates publishes at least one novel, essay anthology, or story collection a year (during the 1970s, she produced at the astonishing rate of two or three books a year!). And although her fiction often exposes the darker side of America's brightest facades—familial unrest, sexual violence, the death of innocence—she has also made successful forays into Gothic novels, suspense, fantasy, and children's literature. As novelist John Barth once remarked, "Joyce Carol Oates writes all over the aesthetical map."
Where she finds the time for it no one knows, but Oates manages to combine her ambitious, prolific writing career with teaching: first at the University of Windsor in Canada, then (from 1978 on), at Princeton University in New Jersey. For all her success and fame, her daily routine of teaching and writing has changed very little, and her commitment to literature as a transcendent human activity remains steadfast.
Extras
• When not writing, Oates likes to take in a fight. "Boxing is a celebration of the lost religion of masculinity all the more trenchant for its being lost," she says in highbrow fashion of the lowbrow sport.
• Oates's Black Water, which is a thinly veiled account of Ted Kennedy's car crash in Chappaquiddick, was produced as an opera in the 1990s. (Author bio from Barnes & Noble.)
Praise for Oates from the UK
• One of the female frontrunners for the title of Great American Novelist.— Maggie Gee, Sunday Times
• A writer of extraordinary strengths.... She has dealt consistently with what is probably the great American theme— the quest for the creation of self.... Her great subject, naturally, is love.—Ian Sansom, Guardian
• Her prose is peerless and her ability to make you think as she re-invents genres is unique. Few writers move so effortlessly from the gothic tale to the psychological thriller to the epic family saga to the lyrical novella. Even fewer authors can so compellingly and entertainingly tell a story.—Jackie McGlone, Scotland on Sunday
• Novelists such as John Updike, Philip Roth, Tom Wolfe and Norman Mailer slug it out for the title of the Great American Novelist. But maybe they're wrong. Maybe, just maybe, the Great American Novelist is a woman. —The Herald
Book Reviews
This [book's violence] is the sort of sanguinary stuff in which Ms. Oates has been buried to the elbows for four decades; ripped-from-the-headlines crimes have fueled her work since...1966.... There is much to admire in this bittersweet tale of one woman’s triumph of the will. At 582 pages, however, Ms. Oates’s 36th work of fiction begins to sink under its own dolorous weight. Though clearly meant to have an epic sweep, The Gravedigger’s Daughter feels like a four-hour film that should have been cut by 90 minutes.... [Nonetheless,] a bit of a whopper, yes, and often schmaltzy, but engaging enough for those who don’t cling to every word.
Michelle Green - New York Times
This is neither a depressing story nor an uplifting one. Oates succeeds here, as she often does, in making such judgments feel simple-minded. What it all seems is true and therefore moving and somewhat terrible, but in an exhilarating way. Every aspect of the ungainly plot feels right, including its ungainliness. Resolutions fail to arrive; lost people fail to return. Flowing through and past it all, surfacing for these 600 pages, is Oates's turbulent, cross-currented prose, with its hot upwellings and icy eddies. It's the opposite of lapidary, and has the disadvantage of being impossible to quote effectively in a brief review, but for the enthralled reader, Oates's water will eventually have its proverbial way with other writers' stone.
Washington Post
At the beginning of Oates's 36th novel, Rebecca Schwart is mistaken by a seemingly harmless man for another woman, Hazel Jones, on a footpath in 1959 Chatauqua Falls, N.Y. Five hundred pages later, Rebecca will find out that the man who accosted her is a serial killer, and Oates will have exercised, in a manner very difficult to forget, two of her recurring themes: the provisionality of identity and the awful suddenness of male violence.
There's plenty of backstory, told in retrospect. Rebecca's parents escape from the Nazis with their two sons in 1936; Rebecca is born in the boat crossing over. When Rebecca is 13, her father, Jacob, a sexton in Milburn, N.Y., kills her mother, Anna, and nearly kills Rebecca, before blowing his own head off. At the time of the footpath crossing, Rebecca is just weeks away from being beaten, almost to death, by her husband, Niles Tignor (a shady traveling beer salesman). She and son Niley flee; she takes the name of the woman for whom she has been recently mistaken and becomes Hazel Jones. Niley, a nine-year-old with a musical gift, becomes Zacharias, "a name from the bible," Rebecca tells people. Rebecca's Hazel navigates American norms as a waitress, salesperson and finally common-law wife of the heir of the Gallagher media fortune, a man in whom she never confides her past.
Oates is our finest novelistic tracker, following the traces of some character's flight from or toward some ultimate violence with forensic precision. There are allusions here to the mythic scouts of James Fenimore Cooper's Leatherstocking Tales, who explored the same New York territory when it was primeval woods. Many of the passages are a lot like a blown-up photo of a bruise—ugly without seeming to have a point. Yet the traumatic pattern of the hunter and the hunted, unfolded in Rebecca/Hazel's lifelong escape, never cripples Hazel: she is liberated, made crafty, deepened by her ultimately successful flight. Like Theodore Dreiser, Oates wears out objections with her characters, drawn in an explosive vernacular. Everything in this book depends on Oates' ability to bring a woman before the reader who is deeply veiled—whose real name is unknown even to herself—and she does it with epic panache.
Publishers Weekly
(Starred review) Some of Oates' novels are tightly focused; others cover a larger social canvas. The Gravedigger's Daughter is a hybrid of the two.... Oates is supremely atmospheric, erotic, and suspenseful in this virtuoso novel of identity, power, and moral reckoning. —Donna Seaman Booklist
Joyce Carol Oates's 36th novel proves that more is, sometimes, more. the Seattle Times calls it an "opus," while the Oregonian describes it as her "masterpiece." .... A few reviewers cited poor writing, confusing narrative switches, and flat secondary characters, but overall, The Gravedigger's Daughter may be one of Oates's best novels in years.
Bookmarks Magazine
The lingering residue of survivor's guilt and trauma shape a battered woman's life on the run in Oates's latest novel, which is stuffed with echoes of her earlier fiction. Following a terse "Prologue" in which young wife and mother Rebecca Tignor rejects memories of her harsh immigrant father Jacob Schwart, we observe her fending off a stranger who follows her home from her factory job, addressing her as "Hazel Jones," a name that means nothing to her. Then, in juxtaposed narratives, we learn of her girlhood among a German-American family scarred by the resentment of her father (a teacher and intellectual reduced to working as a cemetery caretaker) and the violence of her older brother, and the life to which she alone escaped after a family tragedy: a hopeful marriage to traveling salesman Niles Tignor, blighted by his violent abuse of Rebecca and their young son "Niley." Escaping again, Rebecca reinvents herself (as "Hazel Jones," also renaming Niley "Zacharias"), moves around upstate New York for years and finds love with a decent older man (Chet Gallagher), who also nurtures "Zacharias's" precocious musical gift—until the pull of her own life brings Rebecca/Hazel to obsession with the nihilistic "wisdom" preached by her doubtless insane father. The arc thus traced virtually repeats that of Oates's 1967 novel A Garden of Earthly Delights (itself recently republished, in substantially rewritten form), and circumstantial details recall similar material in such novels as The Assassins (1975) and Angel of Light (1981). Furthermore, the novel ends with an exchange of letters which incorporates a short story published in her recent collection High Lonesome (2006). The resulting patchwork is an amalgam of tedious rehashing and compelling drama, whose best feature is Oates's painstaking portrayal of a woman so persistently exploited and betrayed that she loses all sense of who she actually is. A truly representative sampling of this unpredictable author's grind-it-out strengths and mind-boggling weaknesses.
Kirkus Reviews
Discussion Questions
Use our LitLovers Book Club Resources; they can help with discussions for any book:
• How to Discuss a Book (helpful discussion tips)
• Generic Discussion Questions—Fiction and Nonfiction
• Read-Think-Talk (a guided reading chart)
Also consider these LitLovers talking points to help get a discussion started for The Gravedigger's Daughter:
1. For those familiar with Oates's work, this novel like many of her others carries the theme of the ongoing, explosive threat of male violence. Is the violence in this book over the top, or is it an integral part of the plot? What precipitates her father's final act of violence? Why does her father insist that the family is not Jewish?
2. What kind of person is Anna's mother? How do she and her daughter differ in personality?
3. In what way do shame and poverty motivate and shape Rebecca's character as she claws her way in the world?
4. Rebecca is born on the ship over to the U.S.—as if to symbolically set the stage for her journey of identity. What different personas does Rebecca "try on"? Why does she eventually take on the name of Hazel Jones, the name of someone with whom she is mistaken in the prologue? Does Rebecca/Hazel ever forge a genuine identity for herself?
5. Jacob tells Rebecca that "in animal life the weak are quickly disposed of. So you must hide your weakness, Rebecca." Do you agree with that assessment of life—that human life is akin to animal life in the wild?
6. Why does Rebecca/Hazel envision her parents during her son's piano competition? Is this a result of survivor's guilt?
7. How do you feel about the last minute plot twist? Was it sprung on you unexpectedly? Or were you ready for it...did you forsee it?
8. What symbolic significance might the title have in this work? Why, af all occupations, might Oates have chosen gravedigger for Jacob Schwart?
(Questions from LitLovers. Please feel free to use them, online or off, with attribution. Thanks.)
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