I was discussing books that affect us with my friend Danielle at The Thin Man, and this book came up as one that made her cry. Trying to blog about books as I read them, I just finished this tonight.
Toby Maytree is the books' namesake. His wife, Lou, their son Petie, and a random host of friends from the Cape Cod shoreline make up the majority of the characters. The theme of the book is love. Using poetry, Plato, and Socrates the book contemplates the idea of love being a feeling, or more likely, a choice. It acutely and gently unravels the question as it tells the story of their thirty-plus year friendships. Ugh. Profound beauty lies in these quotes. Dillard has a quiet way of pondering some of the bigger questions with which we all grapple.
"With each injury you learn how that patch of you feels."
"Every day she failed to tell him about herself and her solitude led him further astray."
"Does familiarity blur lovers' clear sight of essences and make surfaces look significant?"
"He never stopped looking, for her face was his eyes' home."
"It was never too late to record the faces you love."
"Love letters do not so much document daily love's long hours as precede them."
"Anyway, how could he ever start when now was far too soon and later was impossible?"
"Only in the face of the other did each find home."
"Could a person hold all people past and present in awareness? She further wondered if doing so was, by errant chance, the point-toward what end she had no clue. Not that life required a point. But she found herself starting to sway toward eventually considering that there might be one. A point. Any point."
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