There’s nothing lurid or depraved about Kingsolver’s exploration of this theme on the contrary, this novel is an empowering and poetic paean to the glory of sexual reproduction. I’ve never read a text so unabashedly brimming with sexual imagery and sensuous excess. Finally, there’s Garnett, a grumpy, conservative septuagenarian who spends his days trying to resurrect the American chestnut tree and arguing with his saucy neighbor. Predictably, these three storylines start out as discrete threads, but become increasingly interwoven as the novel progresses.Īt its core, Prodigal Summer is about one thing, and one thing only: sex. Our second protagonist is Lusa, a city girl who finds herself unexpectedly widowed and suddenly in charge of her late husband’s farm, with his entire extended family looking anxiously on. Deanna loves ecology and is a generally disdainful of humanity’s tendency to disrupt and destroy the natural world.
First we meet Deanna, a highly-educated Forest Service employee who has spent the last couple years living alone in the woods. Prodigal Summer, which takes place in rural Appalachia and is comprised of three overlapping narratives, is no exception. Kingsolver, one of America’s finest contemporary authors, has never quite managed to knock my socks off, but her books always impress me and make me think about myself and the world in valuable ways. Even so, I had no trouble enjoying the scenery while traipsing through this smart and artful novel.
It offers a snapshot of my former ambitions that, for whatever reason, did not motivate or entice me in the way I thought they might. Bursting with energy and appreciation for all living things, the book reminds me that I am not a farmer, that I am not a naturalist––not in the true sense of those words, anyway.
This was an odd moment for me to finally get around to reading Barbara Kingsolver’s Prodigal Summer, which has been waiting on my bookshelf for ages.
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