It’s been a while since I actually read The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. I put it
down and then forgot to write about it… which I don’t know exactly what it says
about the book. It was OK, a little long and not really looking like
it was going to get to any sort of point at times, but it was good.
Bleak, but
good.
Basically The Heart is a Lonely Hunter is about a man named
John Singer, a deaf mute in Georgia
during the 1930s. He and his friend Antonopoulos, another deaf mute, live in a
tiny little apartment together and have a quaint little life until
Antonopoulos begins to go insane and is taken to a mental hospital in another
town. Singer moves into a sort of boarding house owned by the Kelly’s. Enter
Mick Kelly, a rambunctious tomboy of a girl who has a deep devotion to all
things music related. The book follows Mick as she basically grows up. I have a
hard time thinking that Mick is the main character, because the whole book
revolves around John Singer, but most of the book is from Mick’s point of view,
so it’s a little hard to determine.
Singer attracts a whole slew of misfits in the book, all who
find solace in his quiet demeanor and his ability to listen to them ramble for
hours (although he is deaf, he can read lips – and carries around a little card
that explains so, along with “Please don’t shout”, which made me laugh). The
oddball characters that seek out Singer are; Mick Kelly, Biff Brannon – local
store owner, Jake Blount – a socialistic drunk carnival worker, and Dr.
Copeland – an African American doctor who feels a lot of anger towards the
injustices of his race. All of these characters are somehow alienated from
society, or their families. They are all very similar, yet none of them are in
any way connected except through Singer.
I just couldn’t help but feel bad for Singer the most. This
guy, all he really wanted was to be able to talk with his old friend
Antonopoulos again, to be able to tell about all of the things that were going on in
his life. And then there are all of these people just badgering him day and
night, talking his deaf little ears off, and never asking him any questions
about how he is doing or anything like that. They were all just selfishly
leaching some form of comfort out of him. My least favorite character was
Blount. I wanted to stuff a sock in his rambling mouth.
The fact that McCullers wrote this at twenty-three is really
outstanding. I mean, kudos to her for sure, but I just wasn’t enraptured by the
book. It was good, but not the most amazing thing I’ve ever read. If I wanted
to read a book about common everyday characters in the 1930s, I would probably
just pick up a Steinbeck and go with that. If you haven’t read it, I would. It’s
not a waste of time really, it just takes a little extra effort to get through
it (at least for me it did). I hate to judge authors on one particular book (especially their first one), so I will probably try to read another by Miss McCullers. At some point.
On to reading!
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