This book felt underwhelming. I think Dubus does a great job with ratcheting up tension, of putting characters in a situation where by the end you know everything is going to fall apart. To a casual viewer's eye, a somewhat black and white situation that may be girded with sympathy towards the characters once we understand their lives, their histories and motivations, and, man, does the ending of this book deliver. But I also had to question whether or not it really needed 530 pages to get there....it felt very Tolstoy in the way it followed life, written in a detailed, realistic vertical flow that easily moves these characters through space and time and provides us with perceptions of the outside world that give us a better understanding of the state of these character's inner being (another one of Dubus's strength), and there's something visceral about his writing, there's no doubt that these characters have bodies and that the emotions they feel are felt in their very bones or organs...but at the same time, it also felt like it was retreading similar material again. Perhaps it's an unfair to compare Dubus III to his father Dubus I, but they both have similar writing material, are concerned with violence, love, redemption, grace, and the complexities of navigating morally difficult situations that provides no easy answer but only an option between "a rock and a hard place." But more so than subject matter (the book reminds me a lot of Dubus's short story The Pretty Girl), what separates these two authors is a difference in form; novel versus short story. And, until I got to the end, I couldn't help thinking that this would have made a great short story rather than a novel if some of the time could be compressed (again, think Dubus's "Killings"). Again, maybe this is unfair, but I do think there's something to say about the length of this book, and how after a while it felt like I was treading water while reading. I was riveted when I got the ending, but why did I have to read 420 pages to get there?
Also, I'm not convinced that the structure of the book is working. I think one of the difficulties of writing a book about the effects of trauma in later life (the incident in this book happened when the father was a young man, when the daughter was three; the book picks up when the father is in his 60's, the daughter in her 40's) is that the reader cares more about the past than the actual present. The past seemed so much more vivid, like the carousels and game booths that once habited the dock but which, by the end of the book, are rusted, in disrepair. It's an apt metaphor that one sees again in the description of the town in the very first paragraph, and feels true to how we experience life - how sometimes a defining moment of our life can happen in our past, and the rest of it is almost "fallout," an attempt to get away with, to deal with, what happened. Something about the lights, Danny "The Voice" Ahearn and Lydia and their daughter, just felt more interesting to me. I almost wished the book were written about that moment, in which the characters are most filled with passions, rather than the aftermath, in which they are wrecked by those character's passions, in some ways numb, hollowed out, afraid.
Surprisingly, I really did enjoy the sort of "writers writing in a written story" thing. I found it really interesting the way Susie attempted to deal with her past through memoir, and how this offered a very natural and cool way to get at some of her past and understand her a little better. Even Danny, her father, struggles to write in this story with his letter. Throughout the book, there are instances of characters trying to communicate with each other; characters that love each other, who have made mistakes, who want to do good. And that's where a lot of the heartbreak of the novel seems to center on; the heartbreak of communication. By the end, it's what cannot be said that tells us most about these characters, but, in a heartbreaking landslide, by the end it's also how the reader understands how words can be impossible when one has, as the book is aptly titled, been "gone so long." Dubus does a good job of complicating what, from an outside view, would seem like a black and white situation (think Truman Capote's "In Cold Blood"). His book is complex, because of the way the characters both love and hate each other, and does a fine job of tracing the aftermaths of violence to not what just what happens in the present moment, but how we try and deal and cope with it after, and how that affects our relationships to others and, especially, to our loved ones.