The House at the Edge of Night

Last fall, I read Luncheon of the Boating Party, which I immediately acknowledged suffered in my opinion from having been read immediately on the heels of Shogun, which was only one of the very best books I ever read.  

Catherine Banner's The House at the Edge of Night was similarly unlucky, but more so, as the two books last fall had about as much in common as William Shakespeare and Margaret Mitchell. The House at the Edge of Night parallels Pachinko in such ways that you'd think I was trying to read of the same genre and timeframe. Like Pachinko, The House at the Edge of Night is a multi-generational saga that spans the twentieth century.

Amedeo Esposito arrives on Castellamare, a blip of an island within shouting distance of Sicily, at the end of World War I to serve as the doctor. In nearly-feudal Italy, though, he essentially serves at the pleasure of the local count and when he falls into disfavor, Amedeo instead becomes the proprietor of the defunct and decrepit House at the Edge of Night, formerly the center of island life. Under the careful guidance of Amedeo and his wife, Pina, it will be again. Naturally, World War II exacts a terrible toll on both the island and the Espositos, and the emergence of Castellamare into modern Europe is only slightly less painful.

All of this Banner tells with Grace and fine prose; I could practically smell the bougainvillea and salt air that so infuse the story's island home. If I couldn't quite picture Amedeo, Pina's black braid cast a lasting image in my mind. No, there's absolutely nothing deficient about The House at the Edge of Night...it simply suffers by comparison to Pachinko. 

My advice is to read both, but not too close together.


Three-and-a-half stars.