"The Sea" by John Banville

 

John Banville provides an intense personal journey in his 2005 Booker Prize-winning novel, The Sea. Newly widowed, lonely, and battling a late-life disillusionment, an art historian reflects on the life he’s led. Or rather, he returns to his childhood vacation spot and reflects on his sexual awakening—which was for him a somewhat fraught episode. The narrative reflects its moody first-person protagonist, but we are allowed to form our own opinion of this character, which is the principal point in this journey.

The author exercises remarkable skill: through his protagonist/narrator’s internal dialogue, he unfolds all plot, all action and consequence. This is not unusual of course, but Banville exposes an unusual depth through his narrator—there’s no prevarication by either the author or this character. We end up feeling intimately familiar—at times uncomfortably so—with this man and his plain self-absorption, but paradoxically this is one of the main virtues of The Sea. 

A man whom we eventually learn calls himself Max loses his wife Anna to an unnamed disease. Of his life with her, he says, “We were happy together, or not unhappy, which is more than most people manage.” Her passing obviously depresses him and he leaves  home for with its crowding memories and takes refuge on the coast, where, perhaps, he anticipates the memories will be less depressing. He recalls his sexual awakening, which occurred in this milieu: we learn of the well-to-do but quirky Grace family, and particularly of daughter Chloe, his own age, who is the object of his feverish affection.  During his trip in the present day, he conflicts with his grown daughter; they drive each other to distraction—she deeply resents the secrecy surrounding the wife/mother’s demise, which was only the poor woman’s wish. Their toxic effect on each other has many sources; they do not communicate well.

All this sounds unrewarding, but the language, in which the narrator proves over-honest and engaging, forms one of the piece’s stunning attractions. The characters who make up the Grace family, of such vivid memories from the narrator’s youth, also show the power and singular talents of this superior writer. In fact, the group’s influence over the narrator’s youthful self, and the example they set, propel this novel, giving it its most vivid scenes. To Max the observer/narrator, and through him, us, they reflect life’s baffling challenges, and its resulting tragedies.

A stricken man narrates The Sea, and his observations achieve a startling effect of honesty and dawning wisdom. This is not a long novel; with all the inward-looking by the protagonist, it maintains a sneaky-quick pace. A fine, rewarding journey, full of concise, mature treatments of weighty human issues. For these reasons it won the Booker Prize, and they are the reasons I’m recommending it.