Oscar and Lucinda

Review ebook Oscar and Lucinda

”In order that I exist, two gamblers, one Obsessive, the other Compulsive, must meet. A door must open at a certain time.”

The narrator is the great-grandson of Oscar Hopkins, and in this passage there followed an explanation of the other criteria that were necessary for Oscar and Lucinda to have met, which ultimately led to the family line surviving through the generations resulting in his own birth. Although the narrator never named himself, once (but only once), someone in his story called ”In order that I exist, two gamblers, one Obsessive, the other Compulsive, must meet. A door must open at a certain time.”

The narrator is the great-grandson of Oscar Hopkins, and in this passage there followed an explanation of the other criteria that were necessary for Oscar and Lucinda to have met, which ultimately led to the family line surviving through the generations resulting in his own birth. Although the narrator never named himself, once (but only once), someone in his story called him ‘Bob’. Whether this was a nickname or just an off-the-cuff catch-all name we don’t know. This is because this story isn’t about the narrator and although he tells the story, he effectively keeps himself out of it except for that one tiny and isolated reference.

The Odd Bod’s face was ghastly, a mask carved out of white soap, and you did not need to be a mind-reader to know that God was sending him to New South Wales. This happened on 22 April 1863. My great-grandfather was twenty-two years old.

Odd Bod was the nickname a school chum had given to Oscar Hopkins; initially as an insult but later as an address of some affection. Oscar is a character so naïve in many ways, so pure of mind and heart, that his oddness and strange habits become endearing. This is not a short story – it is a long, involved, sometimes convoluted one – and yet, I wanted more.

I grew to care deeply about Oscar and Lucinda as well as many of their friends and acquaintances in the area of Australia known as New South Wales. This story has so many layers of depth and yet it rollicks along with subtle humour and gave cause for me to stop and reflect. Often.

Dennis Hasset looked at the eyes and, knowing how eyes worked, was astonished, not for the first time, at the infinite complexity of Creation, wondering how this thing, this instrument for seeing, could transmit so clearly its entreaty while at the same time – Look, I am only an eye – deny that it was doing anything of the sort.

This novel stands out for so many reasons, both blatant and subtle, and yet as I look back on my time spent with this story, it was so tightly and cleverly woven that it is nearly impossible to say “this stands out” or “that stands out”.

For me, the entire experience of reading this novel stands out – all of it – the characters, the plot, the writing, stirred in with wit and wisdom, all are like a home-cooked spaghetti sauce: a far more vast and intricate taste sensation than the individual ingredients added to the pot. …more