Status
Available
Call number
Genres
Publication
HARPER PERENNIAL (2005), Edition: Reprint, 216 pages
Description
With the death of a mother and the abduction of a young girl, Susan Fletcher has written a vividly beautiful novel about the innocence and terror of childhood. Following the loss of her mother, eight-year-old Evie is sent to a new life in rural Wales - a dripping place, where flowers appear mysteriously on doorsteps and people look at her twice. With a sense of being lied to she sets out to discover her family's dark secret - unaware that there is yet more darkness to come with the sinister disappearance of local girl Rosemary Hughes. Now many years later Eve Green is waiting for the birth of her own child, and when she revisits her past something clicks in her mind and her own reckless role in the hunt for Rosie's abductor is revealed... A truly beautiful and hypnotic first novel, this is both an engaging puzzle and an enchanting work of literature.… (more)
User reviews
LibraryThing member BinnieBee
Well, I haven't been so bored in a while! The only good thing I can say about this book is the cover was pretty. This was the most confusing and unexciting novel I have read in a very long time. The synopsis sounds like it would be a very interesting book with lots of turns and surprises, but that
Show More
just simply isn't the case. Maybe it would have been if it hadn't been written in such a boring, tired style. I do not recommend wasting your time on this one. Show Less
LibraryThing member clodagho
This book was ok. An easy read but slow.
LibraryThing member phoebesmum
I seem to have read an awful lot of books over the years of 30something women reminiscing over a Terrible Childhood Secret. This is another one. Decently written, at least.
LibraryThing member nikkipierce
I loved this. The writing is beautiful and in parts almost lyrical. It tells the story of a women's childhood in Wales following the death of her mother, and the disappearnce of a young girl at the time. The narrator is now expecting the birth of her own child and is looking back. This is not a
Show More
pacy story, it moves quite slowly but the writing is strong enough to hold your attention. The parts dealing with the death of the narrator's mother are very touching. I will definitely be seeking out the author's second novel. Show Less
LibraryThing member waddleduck
This was a lovely book. Well written and although the story was sometimes in the past and sometimes in the present it was obvious which time the narrative was in. The characters were brilliantly described as was the description of life on and around the welsh farm. Eve's childhood in Birmingham
Show More
with her mother came out well as the strong influence that it was on her life. I thouroughly enjoyed this book and just wanted it to go on. Show Less
LibraryThing member karensaville
About a young girl sent to rural Wales after her Mother dies in Birmingham. A young girl has gone missing. Eve Green is expecting her own child and is looking back. Easy to follow and quite lyrical, I quite enjoyed this book.
LibraryThing member cacky
Soothing prose, like a cup of tea and a favorite rocking chair. And the prose remains like soft, rolling green hills even with the undercurrents of a child abduction and the mystery of the red-headed Irishman who is Eve's father.
LibraryThing member VictoriaE
Thanks to my great friend Olivia, I was turned onto Eve Green by Susan Fletcher. After borrowing it from the library less than a week ago, I finished it this morning around 2 am. A feeling of confidence and nostalgia washed over me as I closed the book.
It has been over five years since I actually
The sense of accomplishment was a welcome change from sitting in front of the computer for six to eight hours a day, researching and writing, but not making much money. At times, you feel like you are running on all cylinders, but still not getting anywhere. I know all the hard work will pay off in the long run - keeping that in mind at times like these can be difficult nonetheless. It being 2 am when I actually finished the book wasn’t much a help either, since I knew that I needed to get to bed.
Where did the wain of nostalgia come from? I don’t want to give part of the story itself away in the process, but the last chapter reminded me of my father. Thinking of him as I began to wash my face before bed, my eyes teared up. Thoughts of what to get as a commemorative tattoo in his honor have flashed through my head a few times a day. His nickname was Slim; I might have that written with a nice graphic as well - of what, I am not sure.
Looking into the mirror, I started to decipher which features I got from him. I knew that my large eyes were from him, though the strong blue hue was thanks to my mother. The widest part of my nose is from him as well; this is the only thing that keeps me from wanting to have it grinded down a bit to make it more curvy and “natural�Â?. It is one of the few things that he has left me, and one of the best possible. I am part of him and he is part of me. Not in a way that anyone can ever alter, I have his DNA, it will always be apparent.
After lying down in bed next to my boyfriend, who was already fast asleep, I tried to silence the overtly poetic thoughts in my mind. Thinking of days gone by in Indiana, questions I wanted to ask him, hugs I wanted to feel but never will. My best friend sleeping in the other room did not know what it felt like to loose a parent. He says that he has been tempered to death, due to how many friends and other family members he has lost. This I can understand, as I had come to terms with the typical human fear of death . This was until my father passed, upon which all my thoughts and comforts were shaken up like a snow globe.
My boyfriend has never lost a parent either, though his father was in jail for nearly his entire childhood. Though a tough situation to be sure, this is nowhere close having a parent die before his time. An autopsy has been performed, and I am still waiting for all the tests to be done before getting an official coronerâÂÂs report on what happened to him. Not knowing why he is gone is almost as painful has having to lose him in the first place. I did my personal best to stave off a serious depression after his passing. My family worried for me, knowing of my depression and anxiety issues. This bothered me - knowing that they saw me as unstable in such a fashion. Though I saw myself unfit to be able to travel to San Francisco to look at apartment or go to the funeral, my mind saw me going through the usual grieving process, which I believe that I am still in the midst of.
Though my mind is strong, it is weak as well. The memories of my days with him could not be silenced, and tears ran down my face onto my green pillow cover. Waking Logan has crossed my mind, but there would not be much he could do to lighten my mood. Having not lost a parent (though having a jailed one), it was hard to be able to talk to him on the subject, knowing that he could sincerely relate. This ties back into the book I mentioned, around page 186-7, when EveâÂÂs grandmother spends more and more time with Mrs Hughes. Having someone else to comfort could bring me my own kind of comfort with the loss. A number of people have been more that kind online, offering up their condolences; some even tell me of how losing their father was a painful impact on them. I do not have a person to talk to, face to face, that has felt the hollow center that I have. This is not to discount those that have been helpful in my understand and absorption of my loss. I would be a much softer person if I did not have them.
Hollow is the only word that I have found to be able to describe the feeling. Lying on my back, dabbing the tears away from under my eyes, I stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath through my nose. As I exhaled, I could feel the oxygen drifting through the holes in my torso. There is one next to my heart, in the center of my chest. Another one can be found close to my liver. My pelvic bone, naturally lacking bone marrow in a number of areas, had the most free-flowing air. These holes develop after such a life-altering loss of life. I do not know if or when more will develop. I also do not know how to fill them. A haphazard oxygen flow lends a feeling of inefficiency, as though I could be doing more in my life, but unable to harness the power of oxygen in its simplest form, I get by doing just as much as I can muster with each rise of the sun; each turn of the earth.
Though it seems I have spoken little of Eve Green, upon reading the book, you will find the volumes have been written here. IâÂÂve only touched upon one of the subjects this book brings to mind in my own life, whether it be personal or writing professionally. As my career continues to slide in many directions, I have all the intentions of publishing a book in the future. Fiction or nonfiction is still the decision to make. My mind tells me that I do not have the creative genius to spin a false tale that is worth reading. Maybe this would make the challenge all the more fruitful.
This book made me think. It made me smile, it made me want to read on. In the beginning, I had to adjust to the characterâÂÂs style of writing. Within two or three chapters, it was clear that her style was beneficial to the story and a smoothed-out train of thought. Undoubtedly, this book will make my âÂÂfavorites of all timeâÂ? list. Being SusanâÂÂs first book (not to be confused with established writer Susan Fletcher), IâÂÂll wait for her next book with baited breath.
It has been over five years since I actually
Show More
finished a fiction book. Many were started, but after the first chapter, I quickly lost interest. Whether this was my own issue or the fault of the writer is unsure. This is not to say that I didn’t try and read a number of nonfiction books as well, many of which went unfinished as well. Being a restless teenager gave me little inspiration to sit and bide my time with a book.The sense of accomplishment was a welcome change from sitting in front of the computer for six to eight hours a day, researching and writing, but not making much money. At times, you feel like you are running on all cylinders, but still not getting anywhere. I know all the hard work will pay off in the long run - keeping that in mind at times like these can be difficult nonetheless. It being 2 am when I actually finished the book wasn’t much a help either, since I knew that I needed to get to bed.
Where did the wain of nostalgia come from? I don’t want to give part of the story itself away in the process, but the last chapter reminded me of my father. Thinking of him as I began to wash my face before bed, my eyes teared up. Thoughts of what to get as a commemorative tattoo in his honor have flashed through my head a few times a day. His nickname was Slim; I might have that written with a nice graphic as well - of what, I am not sure.
Looking into the mirror, I started to decipher which features I got from him. I knew that my large eyes were from him, though the strong blue hue was thanks to my mother. The widest part of my nose is from him as well; this is the only thing that keeps me from wanting to have it grinded down a bit to make it more curvy and “natural�Â?. It is one of the few things that he has left me, and one of the best possible. I am part of him and he is part of me. Not in a way that anyone can ever alter, I have his DNA, it will always be apparent.
After lying down in bed next to my boyfriend, who was already fast asleep, I tried to silence the overtly poetic thoughts in my mind. Thinking of days gone by in Indiana, questions I wanted to ask him, hugs I wanted to feel but never will. My best friend sleeping in the other room did not know what it felt like to loose a parent. He says that he has been tempered to death, due to how many friends and other family members he has lost. This I can understand, as I had come to terms with the typical human fear of death . This was until my father passed, upon which all my thoughts and comforts were shaken up like a snow globe.
My boyfriend has never lost a parent either, though his father was in jail for nearly his entire childhood. Though a tough situation to be sure, this is nowhere close having a parent die before his time. An autopsy has been performed, and I am still waiting for all the tests to be done before getting an official coronerâÂÂs report on what happened to him. Not knowing why he is gone is almost as painful has having to lose him in the first place. I did my personal best to stave off a serious depression after his passing. My family worried for me, knowing of my depression and anxiety issues. This bothered me - knowing that they saw me as unstable in such a fashion. Though I saw myself unfit to be able to travel to San Francisco to look at apartment or go to the funeral, my mind saw me going through the usual grieving process, which I believe that I am still in the midst of.
Though my mind is strong, it is weak as well. The memories of my days with him could not be silenced, and tears ran down my face onto my green pillow cover. Waking Logan has crossed my mind, but there would not be much he could do to lighten my mood. Having not lost a parent (though having a jailed one), it was hard to be able to talk to him on the subject, knowing that he could sincerely relate. This ties back into the book I mentioned, around page 186-7, when EveâÂÂs grandmother spends more and more time with Mrs Hughes. Having someone else to comfort could bring me my own kind of comfort with the loss. A number of people have been more that kind online, offering up their condolences; some even tell me of how losing their father was a painful impact on them. I do not have a person to talk to, face to face, that has felt the hollow center that I have. This is not to discount those that have been helpful in my understand and absorption of my loss. I would be a much softer person if I did not have them.
Hollow is the only word that I have found to be able to describe the feeling. Lying on my back, dabbing the tears away from under my eyes, I stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath through my nose. As I exhaled, I could feel the oxygen drifting through the holes in my torso. There is one next to my heart, in the center of my chest. Another one can be found close to my liver. My pelvic bone, naturally lacking bone marrow in a number of areas, had the most free-flowing air. These holes develop after such a life-altering loss of life. I do not know if or when more will develop. I also do not know how to fill them. A haphazard oxygen flow lends a feeling of inefficiency, as though I could be doing more in my life, but unable to harness the power of oxygen in its simplest form, I get by doing just as much as I can muster with each rise of the sun; each turn of the earth.
Though it seems I have spoken little of Eve Green, upon reading the book, you will find the volumes have been written here. IâÂÂve only touched upon one of the subjects this book brings to mind in my own life, whether it be personal or writing professionally. As my career continues to slide in many directions, I have all the intentions of publishing a book in the future. Fiction or nonfiction is still the decision to make. My mind tells me that I do not have the creative genius to spin a false tale that is worth reading. Maybe this would make the challenge all the more fruitful.
This book made me think. It made me smile, it made me want to read on. In the beginning, I had to adjust to the characterâÂÂs style of writing. Within two or three chapters, it was clear that her style was beneficial to the story and a smoothed-out train of thought. Undoubtedly, this book will make my âÂÂfavorites of all timeâÂ? list. Being SusanâÂÂs first book (not to be confused with established writer Susan Fletcher), IâÂÂll wait for her next book with baited breath.
Show Less
LibraryThing member SeriousGrace
Evangeline's story begins In Birmingham where her mother commits suicide and, at seven years old, she is sent to live with her maternal grandparents in Wales. She has never met her father and her friends consist of one outcast boy from school, a 23 year old farm hand, and a reclusive. seemingly
Show More
mentally ill man who frequents the woods near her grandparent's farm. Everyone else represents jealousy and danger. When a blond, blue eyed classmate goes missing Eve's world is turned upside down. It doesn't help that she didn't really like Rosie, nor that her reclusive friend is a suspect. Show Less
LibraryThing member jayne_charles
This is a superbly crafted novel: a thing of beauty in which every word is polished. It is the sort of writing designed to inform and draw the reader in, rather than the sort that's just there to be showy. It's a gentle read, one that develops slowly, but there are still moments of excellent drama.
Show More
My favourite part was the fight in the dinner hall, and most specifically the line "I managed to scoop up some cheese pie and push it into her hair" - I think it was the sheer superfluousness of it that was the most satisfying! Other authors might be happy with a couple of blows to the face and some smashed crockery on the floor, but this author goes the extra mile! I was mentally cheering along with every other survivor of bullying on the planet. There were points along the way where I found the narrator's and other people's decisions odd, but it was good to find that on turning the last page I could understand how everything that come about and why people had acted as they did. Show Less
Subjects
Awards
Costa Book Awards (Shortlist — First Novel — 2004)
LA Times Book Prize (Finalist — 2004)
Betty Trask Prize and Awards (Prize Winner — Winner — 2005)
Authors' Club First Novel Award (Winner — 2004)
Paterson Fiction Prize (Finalist — 2005)
Language
Original language
English
Original publication date
2004
Physical description
216 p.; 7.72 inches
ISBN
0007770626 / 9780007770625