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Blackbird House
A Novel
Written by Alice Hoffman
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Synopsis
With “incantatory prose” that “sweeps over the reader like a dream,” (Philadelphia Inquirer), Hoffman follows her celebrated bestseller The Probable Future, with an evocative work that traces the lives of the various occupants of an old Massachusetts house over a span of two hundred years.In a rare and gorgeous departure, beloved novelist Alice Hoffman weaves a web of tales, all set in Blackbird House. This small farm on the outer reaches of Cape Cod is a place that is as bewitching and alive as the characters we meet: Violet, a brilliant girl who is in love with books and with a man destined to betray her; Lysander Wynn, attacked by a halibut as big as a horse, certain that his life is ruined until a boarder wearing red boots
arrives to change everything; Maya Cooper, who does not understand the true meaning of the love between her mother and father until it is nearly too late. From the time of the British occupation of Massachusetts to our own modern world, family after family’s lives are inexorably changed, not only by the people they love but by the lives they lead inside Blackbird House.
These interconnected narratives are as intelligent as they are haunting, as luminous as they are unusual. Inside Blackbird House more than a dozen men and women learn how love transforms us and how it is the one lasting element in our lives. The past both dissipates and remains contained inside the rooms of Blackbird House, where there are terrible secrets, inspired beauty, and, above all else, a spirit of coming home.
From the writer Time has said tells "truths powerful enough to break a reader’s heart” comes a glorious travelogue through time and fate, through loss and love and survival. Welcome to Blackbird House.
Excerpt
THE EDGE OF THE WORLDI.
It was said that boys should go on their first sea voyage at the age of ten, but surely this notion was never put forth by anyone's mother. If the bay were to be raised one degree in temperature for every woman who had lost the man or child she loved at sea, the water would have boiled, throwing off steam even in the dead of winter, poaching the bluefish and herrings as they swam.
Every May, the women in town gathered at the wharf. No matter how beautiful the day, scented with new grass or spring onions, they found themselves wishing for snow and ice, for gray November, for December's gales and land-locked harbors, for fleets that returned, safe and sound, all hands accounted for, all boys grown into men. Women who had never left Massachusetts dreamed of the Middle Banks and the Great Banks the way some men dreamed of hell: The place that could give you everything you might need and desire. The place that could take it all away.
This year the fear of what might be was worse than ever, never mind gales and storms and starvation and accidents, never mind rum and arguments and empty nets. This year the British had placed an embargo on the ships of the Cape. No one could go in or out of the harbor, except unlawfully, which is what the fishermen in town planned to do come May, setting off on moonless nights, a few sloops at a time, with the full knowledge that every man caught would be put to death for treason and every boy would be sent to Dartmoor Prison in England--as good as death, people in town agreed, but colder and some said more miserable.
Most people made their intentions known right away, those who would go and those who would stay behind to man the fort beside Long Pond if need be, a battle station that was more of a cabin than anything, but at least it was something solid to lean against should a man have to take aim and fire. John Hadley was among those who wanted to stay. He made that clear, and everyone knew he had his reasons. He had just finished the little house in the hollow that he'd been working on with his older son, Vincent, for nearly three years. During this time, John Hadley and Vincent had gone out fishing each summer, searching out bluefish and halibut, fish large enough so that you could fill up your catch in a very short time. John's sloop was small, his desires were few: he wanted to give his wife this house, nothing fancy, but carefully made all the same, along with the acreage around it, a meadow filled with wild grapes and winterberry. Wood for building was hard to come by, so John had used old wrecked boats for the joists, deadwood he'd found in the shipyard, and when there was none of that to be had, he used fruitwood he'd culled from his property, though people insisted applewood and pear wouldn't last. There was no glass in the windows, only oiled paper, but the light that came through was dazzling and yellow; little flies buzzed in and out of the light, and everything seemed slow, molasses slow, lovesick slow.
John Hadley felt a deep love for his wife, Coral, more so than anyone might guess. He was still tongue-tied in her presence, and he had the foolish notion that he could give her something no other man could. Something precious and lasting and hers alone. It was the house he had in mind whenever he looked at Coral. This was what love was to him: when he was at sea he could hardly sleep without the feel of her beside him. She was his anchor, she was his home; she was the road that led to everything that mattered to John Hadley.
Otis West and his cousin Harris Maguire had helped with the plans for the house--a keeping room, an attic for the boys, a separate chamber for John and Coral. These men were good neighbors, and they'd helped again when the joists were ready, even though they both thought John was a fool for giving up the sea. A man didn't give up who he was, just to settle down. He didn't trade his freedom for turnips. Still, these neighbors spent day after day working alongside John and Vincent, bringing their oxen to help lift the crossbeams, hollering for joy when the heart of the work was done, ready to get out the good rum. The town was like that: for or against you, people helped each other out. Even old Margaret Swift, who was foolish enough to have raised the British flag on the pole outside her house, was politely served when she came into the livery store, though there were folks in town who believed that by rights she should be drinking tar and spitting feathers.
John's son Vincent was a big help in the building of the house, just as he was out at sea, and because of this they would soon be able to move out of the rooms they let at Hannah Crosby's house. But Isaac, the younger boy, who had just turned ten, was not quite so helpful. He meant to be, but he was still a child, and he'd recently found a baby blackbird that kept him busy. Too busy for other chores, it seemed. First, he'd had to feed the motherless creature every hour with crushed worms and johnnycake crumbs, then he'd had to drip water into the bird's beak from the tip of his finger. He'd started to hum to the blackbird, as if it were a real baby. He'd started to talk to it when he thought no one could overhear.
"Wild creatures belong in the wild," Coral Hadley told her son. All the same, she had difficulty denying Isaac anything. Why, she let the boy smuggle his pet into the rooms they let at the Crosbys' boarding house, where he kept the blackbird in a wooden box beside his bed.
The real joy of the house they were building, as much for John as for anyone, was that it was, indeed, a farm. They would have cows and horses to consider, rather than halibut and bluefish; predictable beasts at long last, and a large and glorious and predictable meadow as well. Rather than the cruel ocean, there would be fences, and a barn, and a deep cistern of cold well water, the only water John's boys would need or know, save for the pond at the rear of the property, where damselflies glided above the mallows in spring. John Hadley had begun to talk about milk cows and crops. He'd become fascinated with turnips, how hardy they were, how easy to grow, even in sandy soil. In town, people laughed at him. John Hadley knew this, and he didn't care. He'd traveled far enough in his lifetime. Once, he'd been gone to the island of Nevis all summer long with the Crosbys on their sloop; he'd brought Coral back an emerald, he'd thought then that was what she wanted most in the world. But she'd told him to sell it and buy land. She knew that was what he wanted.
Coral was a good woman, and John was a handsome man, tall, with dark hair and darker eyes, a Cornishman, as tough as men from Cornwall always were. All the same, he didn't have too much pride to herd sheep, or clean out a stable, or plant corn and turnips, though it meant a long-term battle with brambles and nettle. Still, his was a town of fishermen; much as soldiers who can never leave their country once they've buried their own in the earth, so here it was the North Atlantic that called to them, a graveyard for sure, but home just as certainly. And John was still one of them, at least for the present time. If a man in these parts needed to earn enough to buy fences and cows and turnips, he knew where he had to go. It would only be from May to July, John figured, and that would be the end of it, especially if he was helped by his two strong sons.
They moved into the house in April, a pale calm day when the buds on the lilacs their neighbors had planted as a welcome were just about to unfold. The house was finished enough to sleep in; there was a fireplace where Coral could cook, and the rest would come eventually. Quite suddenly, John and Coral felt as though time was unlimited, that it was among the things that would never be in short supply.
"That's where the horses will be," John Hadley told Coral. They were looking out over the field that belonged to them, thanks to those years John had spent at sea and the emerald they'd sold. "I'll name one Charger. I had a horse called that when I was young."
Coral laughed to think of him young. She saw her boys headed for the pond. The blackbird chick rode on Isaac's shoulder and flapped his wings. It was their first day, the beginning of everything. Their belongings were still in crates.
"I'll just take him with me and Vincent this one time," John said. "I promise. Then we'll concentrate on turnips."
"No," Coral said. She wanted three milk cows and four sheep and her children safe in their own beds. She thought about her youngest, mashing worms into paste for his fledgling. "Isaac can't go."
By then the brothers had reached the shores of the little pond. The frogs jumped away as they approached. The blackbird, frightened by the splashing, hopped into the safety of Isaac's shirt, and sent out a small muffled cry.
"He's like a hen," the older brother jeered. At fifteen, Vincent had grown to his full height, six foot, taller than his father; he was full of himself and how much he knew. He'd been to sea twice, after all, and he figured he was as good as any man; he already had calluses on his hands. He didn't need to go to school anymore, which was just as well, since he'd never been fond of his lessons. "He doesn't even know he can fly," he said of his brother's foundling.
"I'll teach him." Isaac felt in his shirt for the blackbird. The feathers reminded him of water, soft and cool. Sometimes Isaac let the chick sleep right beside him, on the quilt his mother had sewn out of indigo homespun.
"Nah, you won't. He's a big baby. Just like you are. He'll be walking around on your shoulder for the rest of his life."
After that, Isaac brought the blackbird into the woods every day, just to prove Vincent wrong. He climbed into one of the tall oaks and let his legs dangle over a high limb. He urged the blackbird to fly away, but the bird was now his pet, too attached to ever leave; the poor thing merely paced on his shoulder and squawked. Isaac decided to name his pet Ink. Ink was an indoor bird, afraid of the wind, and of others of his own kind. He hopped around the parlor, and nested beneath the woodstove, where it was so hot he singed his feathers. He sat on the table and sipped water from a saucer while Isaac did his studies. It was a navigation book Isaac was studying. The Practical Navigator. If he was not as strong as Vincent, or as experienced, then at least he could memorize the chart of the stars; he could know the latitude of where they were going and where they'd been.
"Do you think I could teach him to talk?" Isaac said dreamily to his mother one day. Ink was perched on the tabletop, making a nuisance of himself.
"What would a blackbird have to say?" Coral laughed.
"He'd say: I'll never leave you. I'll be with you for all time."
Hearing those words, Coral felt faint; she said she needed some air. She went into the yard and faced the meadow and gazed at the way the tall grass moved in the wind. That night she said to her husband again, "Don't take him with you, John."
April was ending, with sheets of rain and the sound of the peepers calling from the shore of the pond. Classes would end in a few days, too--they called it a fisherman's school, so that boys were free to be sent out to work with their fathers or uncles or neighbors from May till October. The Hadleys left in the first week of that mild month, a night when there was no moon. The fog had come in; so much the better when it came to sneaking away. The British had lookouts to the east and the west, and it was best to take a northerly route. They brought along molasses, the fishing nets, johnnycake, and salted pork, and, unknown to John and Vincent, Isaac took along his blackbird as well, tucked into his jacket. As they rounded the turn out of their own harbor, Isaac took his pet from his hiding place.
"You could do it now if you wanted to," he said to the bird. "You could fly away."
But the blackbird shivered in the wind, startled, it seemed, by the sound of water. He scrambled back to the safety of Isaac's jacket, feathers puffed up, the way they always were when he was frightened.
"I told you he'd never fly." Vincent had spied the blackbird. He nudged his brother so that Isaac would help check the nets. "He's pathetic, really."
"No, he's not!"
By now they were past the fog that always clung to shore at this time of year, and the night was clear. There were so many stars in the sky, and the vast expanse of dark and light was frightening. The water was rougher than Isaac had ever seen it in their bay, and they were still not even halfway to the Middle Banks. The sloop seemed small out here, far too breakable.
"Is this the way it always is?" Isaac asked his brother. He felt sick to his stomach; there was a lurching in his bones and blood. He thought about the oak tree and the meadow and the frogs and the way his mother looked at him when he came in through the door.
"It's the way it is tonight," Vincent said.
Used to the sea, Vincent fell asleep easily, but Isaac couldn't close his eyes. John Hadley understood; he came to sit beside the boy. It was so dark that every star in the sky hung suspended above the mast, as though only inches above them. Isaac recognized the big square of Pegasus that he'd seen in his book. The night looked like spilled milk, and John Hadley pointed out Leo, the harbinger of spring, then the North Star, constant as always. John could hear the chattering of the blackbird in his son's waistcoat. He could taste his wife's farewell kiss.
"What happens if a storm comes up?" Isaac said, free to be frightened now that his brother was asleep, free to be the boy he still was. "What happens if I'm thrown overboard? Or if a whale comes along? What happens then?"
"Then I'll save you." When the wind changed John Hadley smelled turnips, he really did, and he laughed at the scent of it, how it had followed him all this way to the Middle Banks, to remind him of everything he had to lose.
From the Hardcover edition.
Excerpted from Blackbird House by Alice Hoffman. Copyright © 2004 by Alice Hoffman. Excerpted by permission of Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
About Alice Hoffman
Photo © Deborah Feingold
Author Q&A
A Conversation with Alice Hoffman
Jennifer Morgan Gray is a writer and editor who lives in Washington, D.C.
Jennifer Morgan Gray: Why did you decide to construct Blackbird House as interweaving stories in lieu of a more straightforward narrative structure? Was it liberating to write in so many different points of view? What were the challenges of this framework?
Alice Hoffman: The book began after The Boston Globe asked me to write a short story set on the Cape in the summer. Once I wrote the initial story, I was interested in what else might have happened at the old farm I’d written about. It was great fun and very liberating to pick and choose time periods and characters over several centuries. Rather than being a challenge, it was a pleasure to work with the format of linked stories. I love to read them, and I love to write them. It’s wonderful to move through time and space.
JMG: The book is titled Blackbird House, and the house itself and the hill on which it sits are the unifying link for the stories. Was there a particular home that served as the model for Blackbird House? If so,how did your relationship with the house change and evolve as you wrote the book?
AH: I have an old farm out on Cape Cod. It was very rundown when we bought it, and there were rumors that it was haunted. On my first visit, I noticed a woman, a ghost in the parlor. Then I looked more closely and discovered it was a mirror and that the woman was me. I knew then it was my house. As we were fixing it up, owners and renters from the past visited. They had all loved the house in their time, and I began to have the sense of how many lives had been lived in the rooms we now lived in.
JMG: Blackbird House stretches over hundreds of years. How did you prepare for writing fiction that spans this large amount of time? Did writing the book necessitate extensive research into the history of the Cape Cod area? How did you thrust yourself into the various time periods of the book while you were writing about them?
AH: I did quite a bit of research into the history of my own house, and the history of the towns of the outer Cape. I knew about the natural world of the Cape, having spent twenty-five years as a part-time resident, and was delighted to use that information. The sense of history in Massachusetts, and on the Cape, is so present, and so much of the landscape is unchanged; and so it was easy to imagine what life was like in the past.
JMG: The blackbird—which turns white—is a recurrent motif in the book. How did you conjure up such a striking image that threads throughout the story? How is it a harbinger of good? Of evil? How do you view the blackbird as a supernatural image, and how is it firmly rooted in reality?
AH: Blackbirds have long been symbols in the myths of many cultures and have symbolized both creation and death. In literature the “black bird”—whether a raven or a falcon or a crow—often appears as a symbol of remembrance, mystery, sorrow. Sometimes blackbirds are seen as evil, sometimes good; always they possess an intelligence that is nearly supernatural.
JMG: Sweet peas and turnips, introduced in the first story, also reappear throughout the book. What caused you to incorporate these two natural elements, both rooted in the earth, each with their own distinct beauty? Did they have a symbolic meaning to you while you were writing?
AH: At my farm, old gardens are everywhere, even deep in the woods. In fact, our place was called“Sweat Pea” at one time, and we have so many, we pull them out as though they were weeds. We have orchards and lilies that someone once planted, and the idea that what once has been still influences the present is at the core of Blackbird House. The outer Cape is famous for its turnips—a funny, lumpy,rather ugly vegetable that can be surprisingly delicious.
JMG: In each of these stories, the main characters experience a turning point that acts as a catalyst for change. What about these watershed moments is so compelling to you? Did any of those moments surprise you in the book as you were crafting the characters? Did you experience a similar turning point while were writing Blackbird House, where the book took a different form or trajectory?
AH: Because I could pick and choose the moments I would write about as the book moved forward in time, I chose the turning points in characters lives—sometimes they were small, and went unnoticed by the character—going off to Harvard, for instance. Sometimes they were huge—a marriage, a murder, a death. How we respond at these difficult, transitional times in our lives reveals who we are as human beings. I was constantly surprised by my characters and their choices—I think I found Violet the most surprising character of all. She was so headstrong, so much herself, and she was still able to change even when she was a very old woman.
JMG: Did you write the stories chronologically, as they are presented in the book? Or was there one character or situation that compelled you to write first, then frame the rest of the stories around that tale? Was there one individual chapter that presented a particular challenge to write? Which one?
AH: The first story I wrote was “The Summer Kitchen”—this was the story I wrote for The Boston Globe. It’s the second to last story in the book. The final story, which follows the same family, was the last story I wrote. All of the other stories grew out of my interest in who had come before, who else had lived in Blackbird House. Some of the characters had too much life to be only one story. Violet, for instance, and Emma and Walker, the children who began the book.
JMG: This book is rife with life-altering accidents—from the gale that sweeps Coral’s family away from her in “The Edge of the World” to the car crash that causes Lion and his wife to perish in “Lionheart.”How do the characters balance what they can control versus that which they have no agency over?What is your personal view about the hand of fate in everyday life?
AH: Out on the Cape, weather is huge. A life at sea means a life battling weather, and the graveyards are full of such people. I think the characters do the best they can, but they are dealing with forces that cannot be controlled, from the weather to war to fate.
JMG: “From every bitter thing, after all, something hardy will surely grow,” opens “The Witch of Truro,”one of the stories featuring Ruth (p. 23). I was struck by how this sentiment resonates throughout the book. What about adversity enables each of your protagonists to thrive? Conversely, how do adverse circumstances cause them to doubt themselves and bury their feelings within?
AH: Sorrow defines characters in fiction, just as it defines us. I do believe that the worst of times sometimes forms the best of what’s inside us. Throughout Blackbird House what anyone tries to bury almost always surfaces in some way.
JMG: “He thought about how love could move you in ways you wouldn’t have imagined, one foot in front of the other, even when you thought you had nothing left inside,” thinks Vincent early in the book (p. 21), in “The Edge of the World.” How does Vincent, and the other characters of Blackbird House, seek out love? What does love make them do that is uncharacteristic? While you were writing, did you view love as the guiding force of these stories?
AH: I see love as the guiding force of most everything. Everything done for the good, at any rate. Fear and love seem to be the two motivating forces within the book. Vincent, for example, is a character who feels he’s lost everything, but something remains deep inside. He keeps moving, until he finds his way home and his true self.
JMG: “He looked past anything he didn’t want to see, and therefore he often didn’t recognize the truth even when it was staring him right in the face,” you write of Larkin (p. 52) in “Insulting the Angels.” How does his denial of anything distasteful limit his understanding of the world around him? How do others in the book approach unpleasantness and pain?
AH: The characters all approach pain and loss and love in very different ways. In many cases it takes a while for them to understand the truth of their own actions. Isn’t that true of us all? I think in the case of Violet, her growth in the way she deals with loss and pain is most interesting.
JMG: Loneliness poses a visceral threat to the characters in every facet of this book. What do you think the characters here fear the most about being alone? Was there one relationship that develops from that search to join with someone that you found the most compelling to write? What character, if any, did you have the most difficult time connecting with?
AH: Blackbird House is about the importance of connecting with another person. There is such a need for that, which is so easily seen in a wild, lonely place such as the Cape. Because each character is a little piece of me, I never have trouble connecting with them! I know them inside out, even though they make some surprising choices sometimes.
JMG: When we spoke about your novel The Probable Future last year, you mentioned that your own illness affected how you rendered that novel’s protagonist and her battle with cancer. How did your own experience inform the stories that focus on Emma, the little girl in “The Summer Kitchen,” who successfully overcomes cancer but wistfully idealizes her life before cancer?
AH: When I was going through my treatment, my next door neighbor, a little girl, was battling cancer as well. She was my inspiration for “The Summer Kitchen.” Although the story is not about her or her family, her courage influenced the story and was inspirational for me as I was going through treatment.
JMG: Do you have any special routines or rituals you adhere to while you’re writing that facilitate the process and bring you inspiration and creativity? What are they?
AH: I used to have rituals—painting my office a different color, setting out items that remind me of the book—now I just write. Many of these stories were written on the Cape—“The Wedding of Snow and Ice” was written in a snowstorm. The landscape itself was so inspiring that was enough for me.
JMG: Is there anything in particular that you’re working on right now? What can your readers look forward to seeing on the shelves from you next?
AH: I have a new novel, The Ice Queen, about a frozen woman who is hit by lightning and suddenly comes alive. It’s an erotic fairy tale about what happens when we freeze our emotions—about all that we bury deep inside. A teen novel, The Foretelling, will be out in the fall; it’s set in the Bronze Age, about the daughter of an Amazon queen, and about the ways war can ruin us and love can save us.
Praise
"...[I]t certainly seems as though [Hoffman's] entrancing and mythological tales flow like water from a spring, and her new book is no exception....As the stories leapfrog from colonial times toward the present, Hoffman, a subtle conjurer of telling details and ironic predicaments, orchestrates intense romances and profound sacrifices. Those who live in Blackbird House, by turns brilliant, crazy, and courageous, follow their dreams, endure nightmares, and find that their numinous home is as much a part of their being as their parents' DNA"—Booklist (American Library Association)
From the Hardcover edition.
About the Book
In a rare and gorgeous departure, beloved novelist Alice Hoffman weaves a web of tales all set in Blackbird House. This small farm on the outer reaches of Cape Cod is a place that is as bewitching and alive as the characters we meet: Violet, a brilliant girl who is in love with books and with a man destined to betray her; Lysander Wynn, attacked by a halibut as big as a horse, certain that his life is ruined until a boarder wearing red boots arrives to change everything; Maya Cooper, who does not understand the true meaning of love between her mother and father until it is nearly too late. From the time of the British occupation of Massachusetts to our own modern world, family after family’s lives are inexorably changed not only by the people they love, but by the lives they lead inside Blackbird House.The questions that follow are designed to enhance your discussion and personal reading of BLACKBIRD HOUSE.
About the Author
Alice Hoffman is the author of sixteen acclaimed novels, including Practical Magic, Here on Earth, Blue Diary, and most recently, The Probable Future. She has also written five books for children. She lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.From the Hardcover edition.
Discussion Guides
1. How does “The Edge of the World” set the tone for Blackbird House? How would you characterize the house—is it frightening, soothing, mysterious? Did your feelings about the house change as the book unfolded? If so,how?
2. In the opening story, “The Edge of the World,” a fisherman and his son are lost at sea. How do they haunt Blackbird House, both literally and figuratively? In which ways are the other characters, themselves floundering and lost, seeking to be found? What other ghosts—both literal and metaphorical—are present in the book?
3. When Coral finds eggs with holes in “The Edge of the World,” she views them as omens “of lives unfinished.” What other omens does Coral notice? How are these omens similar and different from the signs that Maya’s mother perceives two hundred years later in “India”? How is the white bird an omen?
4. Why do you think that Vincent stays away from his childhood home for so long in “The Edge of the World”?What do you suppose his mother’s reaction is upon his return? Why do you think he is fearless about the sea?
5. The image of drowning courses throughout the book, from the literal loss of life of John and Isaac (in “The Edge of the World”) to Lysander’s accident (“The Witch of Truro”), to the characterization of Emma’s parents as “two drowning people” in “The Summer Kitchen.” What about the act of drowning is so potent in describing loss, either of life or of love? In which other ways does the power of nature play a role in the book?
6. Love at first sight occurs with many of the couples in Blackbird House. Name them. How does this thunderbolt of passion change and shape their lives? Which couple do you think is best suited for one another in the book? The worst? Do you believe in love at first sight?
7. Sibling relationships are very important in Blackbird House. How does sibling rivalry inform some of them,such as Violet’s relationship with Huley (in “Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair”)? How do siblings form a support network for one another, such as Emma and Walker (“The Summer Kitchen” and “Wish You Were Here”) and Garnet and Ruby (“The Token”)? Which sibling pair do you consider to be the most loving and supportive toward one another? Does one pair remind you of you and your siblings?
8. Sibling relationships are very important in Blackbird House. How does sibling rivalry inform some of them,such as Violet’s relationship with Huley (in “Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair”)? How do siblings form a support network for one another, such as Emma and Walker (“The Summer Kitchen” and “Wish You Were Here”) and Garnet and Ruby (“The Token”)? Which sibling pair do you consider to be the most loving and supportive toward one another? Does one pair remind you of you and your siblings?
9. “I realized I would have to be careful about who I became,” Garnet says in “The Token.” What drives her toward this revelation? How does Garnet’s relationship with her mother change as a result of it? Who else in the book has an epiphany that’s driven by the behavior of a parent?
10. Why does Larkin promise Lucinda he will “change the world” in “Insulting the Angels”? How is this uncharacteristic of him? What change does Larkin himself want? Why do you think that Lucinda leaves the baby with him and goes off to fight?
11. Violet sees books as a passageway to something greater. How does knowledge broaden her horizons? In what ways does it stifle her? Do you think she’s correct when she wonders, in “Lionheart,” if sending Lion to Harvard was the “greatest mistake she’s ever made”? Why are Lion, and his son after him, so adored by Violet?
12. “When he kissed her, he felt as though he were swallowing sadness,” thinks Lion, Jr., of his love for Dorey (p. 116, in “The Conjurer’s Handbook”). What about Dorey attracts Lion? How does their relationship overcome its mournful circumstances to take flight? What similarities do Dorey and Violet share?
13. How does Maya turn away from her parents in “India”? In what ways does she emulate her brother in her dismissal of what her parents stand for? Do you think they come to a better comprehension of one another after Kalkin’s death? Why or why not?
14. “Loneliness can become nasty and hopeless,” Hoffman writes on page 162. Which characters allow loneliness to fill them with bitterness? In contrast, who enjoys time alone and grows as a result of it?
15. In the book, there’s a reluctance to meddle in the business of others—from “The Wedding of Snow and Ice,”where neighbors ignore the physical abuse occurring next door, to “The Pear Tree,” a chronicle of a family’s struggle with a troubled child. Why is the community so hesitant to become involved in these situations? What about Blackbird House might encourage the isolation of its inhabitants? How is this similar to or different from your personal experiences in a community?
16. How does Jamie’s experience in “The Wedding of Snow and Ice” shape the course of his life? What about it sparks his decision to become a doctor? How is he similar and different to Walker, another young boy (in “The Summer Kitchen”) who decides to enter the medical profession?
17. Emma wishes for “the person she could have been if she hadn’t been stopped in some way” (p. 219) in “Wish You Were Here.” Who else in the book has a dividing line between the person they were and who they are now? Do you have a point in your life that’s as significant? What is it?
18. What compels Emma to reach out to the boy at her door at the end of the book? How does the boy share striking similarities to Isaac in “The Edge of the World”? How does Hoffman bring the story full circle in the novel’s last scene?
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