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Frances and Bernard
A letter can spark a friendship.
A friendship can change your life.
In the summer of 1957, Frances and Bernard meet at an artists’ colony. She finds him faintly ridiculous, but talented. He sees her as aloof, but intriguing. Afterward, he writes her a letter. Soon they are immersed in the kind of fast, deep friendship that can take over—and change the course of—our lives.
From points afar, they find their way to New York and, for a few whirling years, each other. The city is a wonderland for young people with dreams: cramped West Village kitchens, rowdy cocktail parties stocked with the sharp-witted and glamorous, taxis that can take you anywhere at all, long talks along the Hudson River as the lights of the Empire State Building blink on above.
Inspired by the lives of Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, Frances and Bernard imagines, through new characters with charms entirely their own, what else might have happened. It explores the limits of faith, passion, sanity, what it means to be a true friend, and the nature of acceptable sacrifice. In the grandness of the fall, can we love another person so completely that we lose ourselves? How much should we give up for those we love? How do we honor the gifts our loved ones bring and still keep true to our dreams?
In witness to all the wonder of kindred spirits and bittersweet romance, Frances and Bernard is a tribute to the power of friendship and the people who help us discover who we are.
A friendship can change your life.
In the summer of 1957, Frances and Bernard meet at an artists’ colony. She finds him faintly ridiculous, but talented. He sees her as aloof, but intriguing. Afterward, he writes her a letter. Soon they are immersed in the kind of fast, deep friendship that can take over—and change the course of—our lives.
From points afar, they find their way to New York and, for a few whirling years, each other. The city is a wonderland for young people with dreams: cramped West Village kitchens, rowdy cocktail parties stocked with the sharp-witted and glamorous, taxis that can take you anywhere at all, long talks along the Hudson River as the lights of the Empire State Building blink on above.
Inspired by the lives of Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, Frances and Bernard imagines, through new characters with charms entirely their own, what else might have happened. It explores the limits of faith, passion, sanity, what it means to be a true friend, and the nature of acceptable sacrifice. In the grandness of the fall, can we love another person so completely that we lose ourselves? How much should we give up for those we love? How do we honor the gifts our loved ones bring and still keep true to our dreams?
In witness to all the wonder of kindred spirits and bittersweet romance, Frances and Bernard is a tribute to the power of friendship and the people who help us discover who we are.
208 pages, Hardcover
First published February 5, 2013
About the author
Carlene Bauer
5 books90 followersCarlene Bauer was born in 1973 in New Jersey. She earned an M.A. in Nonfiction Writing from the Johns Hopkins University's Writing Seminars, and has worked in and around New York publishing for this last long while. Her work has been published in The Village Voice, Salon, Elle, The New York Times magazine, and on the website of n + 1. She lives and writes in Brooklyn, and hopes that you don't hold that against her.
from HarperCollins.com
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 451 reviews
August 17, 2017
I couldn't pull myself away from these corresponding letters.....
..... inspired by the lives of Flannery O'Conner and Robert Lowell.
Knowing that Flannery died of Lupus at age 39 - so young - added sadness.
Also, Robert died of a heart attack - ( older ), but had suffered from manic depression for years - hospitalized many times.
However - this book is written as a novel....so I consciously tried to separate their lives from the story of Frances and Bernard.....our fictional characters.
Life sure is not a straight line. ( go to school - make life time friends -college - more life time friends - graduate -career- fall in love - marriage - children - dogs - grandkids - retirement - travel & leisure time)... ha!
Life for Frances and Bernard was not a straight line either -- their letters evolve over the years--their passion for writing & their passion for each other comes to a fork in the road-- and the question that lingers is ...."can we love another person so completely that we lose our dreams"?
I didn't mind their conversations about God and theology (surprised myself). The kindred spirits and bittersweet romance between Frances and Bernard is charming and powerful.
Extremely intimate! Friendship blossoms....a spiritual dialogue blossoms -darkness gets revealed- love grows - shit hits the fan.....
.......I LOVED THIS SLIM BOOK!!!
NOTE: I just noticed that this is only $2.99 on Kindle! A great deal!!!!
..... inspired by the lives of Flannery O'Conner and Robert Lowell.
Knowing that Flannery died of Lupus at age 39 - so young - added sadness.
Also, Robert died of a heart attack - ( older ), but had suffered from manic depression for years - hospitalized many times.
However - this book is written as a novel....so I consciously tried to separate their lives from the story of Frances and Bernard.....our fictional characters.
Life sure is not a straight line. ( go to school - make life time friends -college - more life time friends - graduate -career- fall in love - marriage - children - dogs - grandkids - retirement - travel & leisure time)... ha!
Life for Frances and Bernard was not a straight line either -- their letters evolve over the years--their passion for writing & their passion for each other comes to a fork in the road-- and the question that lingers is ...."can we love another person so completely that we lose our dreams"?
I didn't mind their conversations about God and theology (surprised myself). The kindred spirits and bittersweet romance between Frances and Bernard is charming and powerful.
Extremely intimate! Friendship blossoms....a spiritual dialogue blossoms -darkness gets revealed- love grows - shit hits the fan.....
.......I LOVED THIS SLIM BOOK!!!
NOTE: I just noticed that this is only $2.99 on Kindle! A great deal!!!!
August 23, 2015
A sophisticated epistolary exchange between two fictional authors, based on the not-quite-love affair between Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell. With or without knowledge of its historical inspiration, though, this is an erudite and affecting novel.
Novelist Frances Reardon and poet Bernard Eliot meet at a writers’ colony in the summer of 1957. Frances senses traces of John Donne in Bernard’s spiritual poetry, and Bernard loves Frances’s biting satire about a group of nuns. They begin a correspondence, discussing their writing but also, increasingly, their personal lives. It is evident from the start that Bernard adores Frances, but Frances is slower to succumb to romantic feelings. (“Whirlwinds can’t love slugs” is how she self-deprecatingly phrases her dilemma.) Over the course of a decade and more, they suffer mental illness, alcoholism, romantic betrayal, and loss of faith, but theirs remains the one great love affair of their lives.
Intelligent and classy, but also a good old-fashioned love story.
Sparkling with wit and richly philosophical, this is a debut novel not to be missed.
Rounded up from 4.5 - I think this could well be a favorite.
(See my full review at The Bookbag.)
Novelist Frances Reardon and poet Bernard Eliot meet at a writers’ colony in the summer of 1957. Frances senses traces of John Donne in Bernard’s spiritual poetry, and Bernard loves Frances’s biting satire about a group of nuns. They begin a correspondence, discussing their writing but also, increasingly, their personal lives. It is evident from the start that Bernard adores Frances, but Frances is slower to succumb to romantic feelings. (“Whirlwinds can’t love slugs” is how she self-deprecatingly phrases her dilemma.) Over the course of a decade and more, they suffer mental illness, alcoholism, romantic betrayal, and loss of faith, but theirs remains the one great love affair of their lives.
Intelligent and classy, but also a good old-fashioned love story.
Sparkling with wit and richly philosophical, this is a debut novel not to be missed.
Rounded up from 4.5 - I think this could well be a favorite.
(See my full review at The Bookbag.)
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December 18, 2021I … do not know how I feel about this? I mean, I think I was a bit out of my depth, to be honest, because it’s inspired by the letters of Flannery o’Connor and Robert Lowell who I know barely anything about. And while I am nuts on an epistolary novel, they can be quite distancing and artificial. This one mostly worked, perhaps? At least it worked for me when the exchange was between the two central characters. The side characters, with whom they occasionally correspondent, felt more like devices to convey plot developments than actual people they’re interacting with. Especially since while they talk about nearly everything they only talk to other people about each other.
There’s also a specify of time here—the 1950s—which felt rather alien to me. I mean, I’m some kind of writer myself but the way everyone thinks and talks about writing, even the professional side of reading, was so utterly disconnected from anything I can imagine thinking or experiencing. Like there’s a bit where Frances asks Bernard to ask his mate to get her a new editor for her book, because the editor just Doesn’t Get Her, Man, and Bernard does, indeed, write to his mate saying:
Oh my GOD? Imagine. I mean, I’ve had editors I haven’t got on with, don’t get me wrong, but … writing to my agent being all “I think my editor is a girl who has got her job because she is tenacious and vapid.” Holy shit. Of course, I don’t live in the 1950s but STILL.
And, obviously, I don’t think everything I read has to relate directly to my own experiences. But I did just struggle finding points of connection with these two. I mean, they don’t have an ironic bone in their bodies. Everything they say is just so fucking sincere all the time.
Also Catholic. They are very Catholic.
I kind of warmed up to Bernard when he sort of, um, lost his faith and had a nervous breakdown. The scenes when he’s in an institution recovering were some of the most emotionally resonant in the book for me. Of course, he’s also kind of a dick to every woman he meets, including Frances. Again, I know it was the 1950 and 60s, and attitudes blah blah blah, but I could tell to what extent we were meant to actually be invested in the emotional dynamic between Frances and Bernard. I appreciated, in the end, her clear-sightedness in (spoiler) choosing not to dedicate her life to a volatile philanderer (independent of any mental illness he may be suffering). But the bit in the middle when they’re sort of having a love affair that, I think, is meant to be a real and significant thing … I don’t know, it felt like he insisted until she gave in. Which is not super romantic (or, indeed, all that consensual) to me?
As a slightly weird note, I also appreciated how much I didn’t entirely like Frances. It made her feel like a real person in a prickly, self-absorbed way. There was something very human about that: a character who feels in no way inclined to seek our sympathy, and an author who is inclined to let her.
So. Yes. Interesting? Complicated? Intersecting with several areas of personal ignorance that probably made me very much the wrong reader for this book. Perhaps making it a case of “it’s not you, it’s me.”
There’s also a specify of time here—the 1950s—which felt rather alien to me. I mean, I’m some kind of writer myself but the way everyone thinks and talks about writing, even the professional side of reading, was so utterly disconnected from anything I can imagine thinking or experiencing. Like there’s a bit where Frances asks Bernard to ask his mate to get her a new editor for her book, because the editor just Doesn’t Get Her, Man, and Bernard does, indeed, write to his mate saying:
I think her editor is a girl who has her job because she is tenacious and vapid—the tenacity masking the vapidity, and the vapidity fueling her ascendency because vapidity frees the mind from bothersome, cumbersome self-examination. Let me know what we can do.
Oh my GOD? Imagine. I mean, I’ve had editors I haven’t got on with, don’t get me wrong, but … writing to my agent being all “I think my editor is a girl who has got her job because she is tenacious and vapid.” Holy shit. Of course, I don’t live in the 1950s but STILL.
And, obviously, I don’t think everything I read has to relate directly to my own experiences. But I did just struggle finding points of connection with these two. I mean, they don’t have an ironic bone in their bodies. Everything they say is just so fucking sincere all the time.
Also Catholic. They are very Catholic.
I kind of warmed up to Bernard when he sort of, um, lost his faith and had a nervous breakdown. The scenes when he’s in an institution recovering were some of the most emotionally resonant in the book for me. Of course, he’s also kind of a dick to every woman he meets, including Frances. Again, I know it was the 1950 and 60s, and attitudes blah blah blah, but I could tell to what extent we were meant to actually be invested in the emotional dynamic between Frances and Bernard. I appreciated, in the end, her clear-sightedness in (spoiler) choosing not to dedicate her life to a volatile philanderer (independent of any mental illness he may be suffering). But the bit in the middle when they’re sort of having a love affair that, I think, is meant to be a real and significant thing … I don’t know, it felt like he insisted until she gave in. Which is not super romantic (or, indeed, all that consensual) to me?
As a slightly weird note, I also appreciated how much I didn’t entirely like Frances. It made her feel like a real person in a prickly, self-absorbed way. There was something very human about that: a character who feels in no way inclined to seek our sympathy, and an author who is inclined to let her.
So. Yes. Interesting? Complicated? Intersecting with several areas of personal ignorance that probably made me very much the wrong reader for this book. Perhaps making it a case of “it’s not you, it’s me.”
March 15, 2013
So what we have here is an epistolary novel about writers who meet in a writer’s colony, inspired by real-life writers, and written by…well, a writer. Based very loosely on the real life correspondence of Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, Ms. Bauer creates two characters that are sort of stand-ins for the more famous writing pair…but not.
The first thing the reader has to decide is, “How much should the real O’Connor-Lowell story influence my reading?” My personal answer was, “Not much.” Sure, O’Connor was a fervent but non-didactic Catholic with a flair for the ironic and allegorical, and yes, Lowell came from a Boston Brahmin family, went to Harvard, converted to Catholicism and wrote confessional poetry. But there’s where the similarities begin and end.
Frances is from a working class Philadelphia family and is awarded the gift of good health here. She meets Bernard, who has a far greater zest for life, and off they go. Frances notes to a friend that maybe she was “jealous of his ability to charm and be gracious and make it seem effortless, make it seem an extension of his intelligence. While I tend to silently judge, or make an untimely crack.”
Their powerful intellectualism rules the day and some of the more meaty parts focus on their conversations about Catholic theology. Curiously, neither start at square one, questioning the very existence of Christ or accepted dogma; rather, they dutifully accept it and start at square two, mulling over how to be a person of faith.
Frances, by far the bigger believer, writes, “I don’t want to forget to say that it’s a common mistake to confuse severity for spiritual radiance. I think many religious folk mistakenly champion the importance of being ramrod.” Bernard, on the other hand, states, “I did not like church but I wanted an absolute and I wanted its demands.” His fervor, he admits, was likely self-adornment.
The two bond over their communication on their writing, religion, their inabilities to strongly adhere to preconceived roles, their families, and their growing feelings for each other. (In real life, O’Connor and Lowell were not lovers).
The book is almost a five star, but not quite. Interestingly, as Frances and Bernard stray into less intellectual and more emotionally wrought areas, they become – to this reader – slightly inorganic. Perhaps it’s the overlay of their famous real-life counterparts that sets up certain expectations. In any event, the “holy friendship” they might have been subconsciously enacting becomes more of a run of the mill narrative. That being said, I was still tempted to go up a star because of the powerful writing and brilliant ending.
The first thing the reader has to decide is, “How much should the real O’Connor-Lowell story influence my reading?” My personal answer was, “Not much.” Sure, O’Connor was a fervent but non-didactic Catholic with a flair for the ironic and allegorical, and yes, Lowell came from a Boston Brahmin family, went to Harvard, converted to Catholicism and wrote confessional poetry. But there’s where the similarities begin and end.
Frances is from a working class Philadelphia family and is awarded the gift of good health here. She meets Bernard, who has a far greater zest for life, and off they go. Frances notes to a friend that maybe she was “jealous of his ability to charm and be gracious and make it seem effortless, make it seem an extension of his intelligence. While I tend to silently judge, or make an untimely crack.”
Their powerful intellectualism rules the day and some of the more meaty parts focus on their conversations about Catholic theology. Curiously, neither start at square one, questioning the very existence of Christ or accepted dogma; rather, they dutifully accept it and start at square two, mulling over how to be a person of faith.
Frances, by far the bigger believer, writes, “I don’t want to forget to say that it’s a common mistake to confuse severity for spiritual radiance. I think many religious folk mistakenly champion the importance of being ramrod.” Bernard, on the other hand, states, “I did not like church but I wanted an absolute and I wanted its demands.” His fervor, he admits, was likely self-adornment.
The two bond over their communication on their writing, religion, their inabilities to strongly adhere to preconceived roles, their families, and their growing feelings for each other. (In real life, O’Connor and Lowell were not lovers).
The book is almost a five star, but not quite. Interestingly, as Frances and Bernard stray into less intellectual and more emotionally wrought areas, they become – to this reader – slightly inorganic. Perhaps it’s the overlay of their famous real-life counterparts that sets up certain expectations. In any event, the “holy friendship” they might have been subconsciously enacting becomes more of a run of the mill narrative. That being said, I was still tempted to go up a star because of the powerful writing and brilliant ending.
November 15, 2015
My rating: 2.5 of 5 stars
A copy of Frances and Bernard was provided to me by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt/Netgalley for review purposes.
An epistolary novel, or a novel written solely in personal letters mainly between main characters Frances and Bernard. The novel is said to of been influenced by the lives of Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, however, Frances and Bernard are far from a carbon copy. In an author interview with Publisher's Weekly, Carlene stated, "I didn’t want to write historical fiction, but I want readers to know that it was the temperaments, minds, and voices of these specific people that set me off."
The beautiful writing was the only redeeming quality of this book for me, and it was quite beautiful. The story was heavily steeped in religious fervor. I found both Frances and Bernard to be quite a bore and their fanatical beliefs and constant discussion of them was really quite tiresome. As much personal details which are given in their letters there still managed to be a lack of connection between the reader and the characters themselves. I would naturally blame the style of writing, however, I was quite fond of the letters back and forth to one another. Reading a certain bit of the authors flawless prose was like a beacon of light, I only wish the entire novel shone more brightly as a whole.
A copy of Frances and Bernard was provided to me by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt/Netgalley for review purposes.
An epistolary novel, or a novel written solely in personal letters mainly between main characters Frances and Bernard. The novel is said to of been influenced by the lives of Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, however, Frances and Bernard are far from a carbon copy. In an author interview with Publisher's Weekly, Carlene stated, "I didn’t want to write historical fiction, but I want readers to know that it was the temperaments, minds, and voices of these specific people that set me off."
The beautiful writing was the only redeeming quality of this book for me, and it was quite beautiful. The story was heavily steeped in religious fervor. I found both Frances and Bernard to be quite a bore and their fanatical beliefs and constant discussion of them was really quite tiresome. As much personal details which are given in their letters there still managed to be a lack of connection between the reader and the characters themselves. I would naturally blame the style of writing, however, I was quite fond of the letters back and forth to one another. Reading a certain bit of the authors flawless prose was like a beacon of light, I only wish the entire novel shone more brightly as a whole.
October 19, 2022
Finished this book on an airplane. After I closed the book, I had one of those Moments where I looked around and wanted to ask my fellow passengers "Did you just feel that?" Powerful, beautiful stuff about obsession, love, religious faith, the fragility of sanity, writing, creativity, and pursuit of one's true desires. Lovely, just lovely.
March 11, 2016
More like 3,5*, I think.
I have mixed feelings about this book. I didn't really like the storyline; I don't like love stories at all and I find them to be a bit boring. Although this story isn't quite the typical love story, it still just wasn't working for me. I didn't feel for the main characters and the abundance of Catholicism annoyed me at times.
But then the writing style. Oh, how I enjoyed the writing style! Thought-provoking, clever and just so beautiful, it was most certainly worth the lack of an interesting plot.
I have mixed feelings about this book. I didn't really like the storyline; I don't like love stories at all and I find them to be a bit boring. Although this story isn't quite the typical love story, it still just wasn't working for me. I didn't feel for the main characters and the abundance of Catholicism annoyed me at times.
But then the writing style. Oh, how I enjoyed the writing style! Thought-provoking, clever and just so beautiful, it was most certainly worth the lack of an interesting plot.
February 6, 2013
I would never had thought that reading letters could prove to be so interesting till now. This novel concerns the meeting and befriending of two person both artists and have a keen belief in God. There to and fro in letter replies from their beginning stages till there final letter paints a picture of love for each other, faith and writing. He's a poet soon to publish and she's a visceral writer from Iowa's workshop soon to possibly publish her first book. As their worlds meet one sways more towards more than normal reflections on the others being. There discussions on all things great and small godly and ungodly provided a great passage of reading for me and I am sure many may like this passage of time, transpiring of souls, these artists that both have an art form to pursue, can they handle a great long lasting relationship that will not interlope their craft and path.
Excerpt
Review also @ http://more2read.com/review/frances-and-bernard-by-carlene-bauer/
Excerpt
"Bernard-
I want to thank you for getting me out of the nunnery and possible getting me out of this other house of horrors.
And: thank you for your book. It's handsome. But please do not mistake me for someone who has direct communication with God. Also, I'm a fiction writer. My judgements are he judgements of a mortal, and they are hobbled by my earthbound obstinate insistence on the concrete. You Know what I've told you before. You and i are so very different. I am one word at a time, one foot in front of the other, slowly, always testing how sure my footing is before proceeding to the next sentence, with ruminative breaks for buttered toast and coffee. Your poems make the old feeling of cowdom come over me: stalled in a vast unconquerable field, alone, ruminating. While you're Christopher Wren. You've made me commit the grave sin of hyperbole in trying to convince you of my esteem- Christopher Wren! Dear God. So be flattered.
Yours,
Frances."
"Michael is probably a much better Christian than me- if i were as godly, i would not have decided to celebrate my last week of summer by swimming naked at night, but have you ever seen the moon waxing crescent, hanging low and white in the sky, and heard the breeze blow through the bushes and trees? You feel as ripening and shining as the night you are in, and it's excruciating to stand there enduring nature- God's instantiation, God's invitation-as a spectator when you plunge yourself in the middle of it. That felt sinful,to not plunge myself in the middle of it."
"But his mind and his heart seem free of cruelty-as he talked, i saw them as two gears connected by the same belt, a belt running at top speed, frequently hiccuping and flapping at the speed and the strain before correcting itself and grinding on.
That is Bernard."
Review also @ http://more2read.com/review/frances-and-bernard-by-carlene-bauer/
December 26, 2014
Two writers meet at a workshop, and continue to correspond after. This story is told entirely in letters, and the author pulls you in to their thoughts and emotions so deeply, so intimately, that it is impossible not to feel! I found it gut-wrenching. Love between friends doesn't always go smoothly, and can't always manifest in traditional ways. That's the story here. Something happens halfway through that turns everything on its ear (something I was not expecting or even needing to have enough drama in the story) but the letters reveal how the friends work through it.)
Apparently the author based it very loosely on the relationship between Flannery O'Connor and Robert Lowell, but I don't know anything about that! I plan to read O'Connor's stories later this year, so perhaps I'll read some Lowell too.
This book was also discussed on the Reading Envy Podcast Episode 03.
And now some of my favorite bits:
"I wonder if I should have even described this to you, if I have scared you. But I imagine knowing you for a long, long time, and I have felt this blackness for a long, long time, and I don't want to hide any part of my self from you." (Bernard to Frances)
"She may always think harder than she loves." (Bernard to his friend Ted, about Frances)
"If we say we love each other, what does it matter? It does not mean that we have to marry each other. It means only that we need each other, that we look out for each other. That our lives without each other would be less." (Bernard to Frances)
"I want you to feel hope more than you feel despair." (Frances to Bernard)
"I see him too clearly to be in love with him." (Frances to her friend Claire, about Bernard)
"I am trying to look at you with love but without illusions. I love your suspicion..." (Bernard to Frances)
Apparently the author based it very loosely on the relationship between Flannery O'Connor and Robert Lowell, but I don't know anything about that! I plan to read O'Connor's stories later this year, so perhaps I'll read some Lowell too.
This book was also discussed on the Reading Envy Podcast Episode 03.
And now some of my favorite bits:
"I wonder if I should have even described this to you, if I have scared you. But I imagine knowing you for a long, long time, and I have felt this blackness for a long, long time, and I don't want to hide any part of my self from you." (Bernard to Frances)
"She may always think harder than she loves." (Bernard to his friend Ted, about Frances)
"If we say we love each other, what does it matter? It does not mean that we have to marry each other. It means only that we need each other, that we look out for each other. That our lives without each other would be less." (Bernard to Frances)
"I want you to feel hope more than you feel despair." (Frances to Bernard)
"I see him too clearly to be in love with him." (Frances to her friend Claire, about Bernard)
"I am trying to look at you with love but without illusions. I love your suspicion..." (Bernard to Frances)
March 2, 2013
It's not very often that I find in a novel two characters so deeply interesting and so fully human as Frances and Bernard are in this work. Their relationship and it's gradual progression form the entire plot of this novel, and though it is only 200 pages, it succeeds in telling an engaging and complete tale.
Since F & B is told solely through a series of letters, Bauer trusts the reader to fill in some of the gaps in facts, the information the letter writers are witholding. That trust in her readers makes the reading experience all the more enjoyable. We know that Frances's reserved manner will come into conflict with Bernard's impulsive style, so when it does it is all the more rewarding.
I can't say enough how engaging and sharp and dynamic and fundamentally human the two central characters are. Their relationship evolves over the course of years, and seeing their authorial voices change in the letters gave me the feeling I was growing with them. I would imagine most readers will grow to love both characters, but Frances was the most engaging to me. Her biting wit made me laugh out loud even through emotionally difficult passages, and her active inner life makes her a great reader surrogate. I was also so excited to see religious, thinking humans portrayed so humanely and thoughtfully. As the book puts it, neither character is "a demagogue or a rube."
I was totally surprised and charmed by this book, which at its end left in me an aching nostalgia for two lives I didn't even live. This is well worth your time if you enjoy any sort of character-driven work.
Since F & B is told solely through a series of letters, Bauer trusts the reader to fill in some of the gaps in facts, the information the letter writers are witholding. That trust in her readers makes the reading experience all the more enjoyable. We know that Frances's reserved manner will come into conflict with Bernard's impulsive style, so when it does it is all the more rewarding.
I can't say enough how engaging and sharp and dynamic and fundamentally human the two central characters are. Their relationship evolves over the course of years, and seeing their authorial voices change in the letters gave me the feeling I was growing with them. I would imagine most readers will grow to love both characters, but Frances was the most engaging to me. Her biting wit made me laugh out loud even through emotionally difficult passages, and her active inner life makes her a great reader surrogate. I was also so excited to see religious, thinking humans portrayed so humanely and thoughtfully. As the book puts it, neither character is "a demagogue or a rube."
I was totally surprised and charmed by this book, which at its end left in me an aching nostalgia for two lives I didn't even live. This is well worth your time if you enjoy any sort of character-driven work.
March 13, 2013
Without hesitation the finest epistolary novel I've read outside of the 18th Century, I read Frances and Bernard over an eighteen hour period while confined to a hotel room in Kansas City, MO (on account of inclement weather), and was, ultimately, grateful for the layover by way of this book.
Returning to their regular lives after time spent at a writers' colony, Frances and Bernard, two ridiculously charming and intelligent characters, decide to start a correspondence based on mutual respect. Their letters, they decide, may cover any topic except their work. Over time, the two grow to love each other in the most compelling and meaningful way but, as they find increasing professional success, soon must choose between their passion for their writing and the-ever growing and powerful affection they feel for one another.
In turn, riotously funny, erudite, and tragic, Frances and Bernard is a charming 1950s New York City love story (loosely based on the relationship between Flannery O'Connor and Robert Lowell) of remarkable wisdom that explores all the different ways two people can become connected to one another, the many and complicated ways that two people can love one another, all while also paying homage to the art of writing personal letters.
Returning to their regular lives after time spent at a writers' colony, Frances and Bernard, two ridiculously charming and intelligent characters, decide to start a correspondence based on mutual respect. Their letters, they decide, may cover any topic except their work. Over time, the two grow to love each other in the most compelling and meaningful way but, as they find increasing professional success, soon must choose between their passion for their writing and the-ever growing and powerful affection they feel for one another.
In turn, riotously funny, erudite, and tragic, Frances and Bernard is a charming 1950s New York City love story (loosely based on the relationship between Flannery O'Connor and Robert Lowell) of remarkable wisdom that explores all the different ways two people can become connected to one another, the many and complicated ways that two people can love one another, all while also paying homage to the art of writing personal letters.
August 13, 2016
A well-written epistolary novel inspired by the friendship of Flannery O'Connor and Robert Lowell. Truely epistolary - back-and-forth back-and-forth - not like Robinson's Gilead where she could have taken away the scaffolding and it hardly would have mattered. I didn't know enough about O'Connor and Lowell's actual relationship to understand when the novel was moving into fictional territories. but I sure don't think they had a romantic relationship.
I lost something in the audio version - I felt as if my reading were repeatedly hijacked by the actors' performances: how they interpreted lines, and the emotional cast they each gave to sentences. I have come to really appreciate audiobooks in the past year, since they allow me to multitask, and my predilections are emerging. But though I know of the recent report that claims a proficient reader comprehends the same amount whether audio or on-the-page, for me listening to an audiobook can be a rather passive activity. This novel kept unfurling (rapidly) and the readers did the most of the work for me, and I never had that crucial experience of pausing, contemplating, and co-creating the work as I "read."
I lost something in the audio version - I felt as if my reading were repeatedly hijacked by the actors' performances: how they interpreted lines, and the emotional cast they each gave to sentences. I have come to really appreciate audiobooks in the past year, since they allow me to multitask, and my predilections are emerging. But though I know of the recent report that claims a proficient reader comprehends the same amount whether audio or on-the-page, for me listening to an audiobook can be a rather passive activity. This novel kept unfurling (rapidly) and the readers did the most of the work for me, and I never had that crucial experience of pausing, contemplating, and co-creating the work as I "read."
January 10, 2022
This is a story written in letter format about two writers who meet at a retreat, then start a correspondence that grows over time. They discuss big topics and make lasting impacts on each others lives as their friendship blossoms. It is a painfully relatable love story.
The description of this book was misleading. There were no NYC vibes, and it was VERY philosophical. This is an example, regarding Frances' father who has become senile:
There’s a great deal of anger and sadness, because my father with all his particulars has now faded into a philosophical problem: How should we love those whom we have loved for their particulars when those particulars are no longer present?
I am conflicted about my feelings towards this book. At times, it was magic. The ending was so real and relatable… probably the most relatable out of anything I’ve read. There were numerous witty, intelligent remarks that made me smirk. However, there were times throughout the book where the writing was so unnecessarily overcomplicated and obnoxious. I get that Frances and Bernard are writers, but still. I prefer simple writing that doesn’t try to show off.
An important warning: there are a lot of discussions about Catholicism. It did not bother me, but I can see how it would annoy some people. I did grow tired of it toward the end.
Also worth noting: This book was apparently inspired by the lives of Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, but you do not need to know about them to read this book. I didn’t, and I think that is an advantage, since it lets you take these fictional characters as they are.
The description of this book was misleading. There were no NYC vibes, and it was VERY philosophical. This is an example, regarding Frances' father who has become senile:
There’s a great deal of anger and sadness, because my father with all his particulars has now faded into a philosophical problem: How should we love those whom we have loved for their particulars when those particulars are no longer present?
I am conflicted about my feelings towards this book. At times, it was magic. The ending was so real and relatable… probably the most relatable out of anything I’ve read. There were numerous witty, intelligent remarks that made me smirk. However, there were times throughout the book where the writing was so unnecessarily overcomplicated and obnoxious. I get that Frances and Bernard are writers, but still. I prefer simple writing that doesn’t try to show off.
An important warning: there are a lot of discussions about Catholicism. It did not bother me, but I can see how it would annoy some people. I did grow tired of it toward the end.
Also worth noting: This book was apparently inspired by the lives of Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, but you do not need to know about them to read this book. I didn’t, and I think that is an advantage, since it lets you take these fictional characters as they are.
January 27, 2014
By far, one of my favorite reads of the past year, and probably in my top 20 all-time. The author has created an absolutely beautiful work that reveals the power of the written word to create and strengthen all varieties of relationships. The characters are wonderfully developed without being overdone and the raw humanity that they all express is needed more in literature. It is refreshing to encounter characters that experience difficulties in their lives similar to what the average person goes through, and I think it is that specific aspect of the novel that will make it a timeless piece that many generations can enjoy and relate with.
May 23, 2017
I'm rating the AUDIO version. The narrators were superb. This was such an intimate story in letter format of a burgeoning friendship through hardships and unrequited love. It's based upon a true accounting of two authors' relationship. But the narrators had such an easy, flowing speaking style that i was quite taken in. It seemed like nonfiction.
June 12, 2013
Epistolary novels are a hard thing to pull off well, I think. The author has to create unique voices for two or more characters so that the letters don’t all sound the same, and they have to be able to find a way to explain and describe events that happen “off-screen” in such a way that it doesn’t feel like two people who lived the events describing them to each other in a letter.
Because, really, who does that? Who?
Carlene Bauer has managed to pull off what might just be the best epistolary novel I’ve read since The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.
Frances and Bernard is loosely based on the real life friendship between Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, but don’t feel like you need to know much about the two in order to enjoy this book. I knew very little about these two authors before going in. I’ve read many of their works, I knew that Lowell struggled with mental illness, that O’Connor died rather young, but precious little about their biographies or relationship. This book may have used Flannery and Robert as a touching-off point, but it works beautifully as its own independent little creature.
Novelist Frances and poet Bernard meet at a writer’s retreat in the late 50s. Bernard reaches out to Frances for conversation afterward, and the two continue to exchange letters for most of the next decade. Their relationship gradually becomes more and more complicated as professional allegiances, competing relationships, and Bernard’s psychological struggles come into play.
There’s some religious discussion in here – their initial conversations are based on a common interest in Catholicism – but it never feels like Bauer or her characters are hitting you over the head with dogma. I say that as a reader who’s pretty adverse to dogma in her fiction. This had just enough to give me a sense of the characters and some things to chew over without feeling like I was being hit over the head with a rosary.
The reason this book succeeded so well for me is how well-developed Frances and Bernard were. They both felt so real to me, as though I really were reading letters from people who had actually lived. They come to care a great deal about one another and the complexity of their relationship never came across as melodramatic – the fact that they are both successful literarians allows their letters to feel genuine and not over-the-top. The brevity of the book helped – Bauer doesn’t let the letters become bogged down in details that the characters wouldn’t naturally share with each other in this context, and yet it is easy to fill in the off-page action. Some exposition is provided by letters to additional characters peppered throughout, giving the reader additional insight into the intricacies of the central relationship without coming across too heavy-handed.
I loved this book. I’d recommend it to anyone interested in epistolary novels, the lives of literary giants, the writing process, the sixties, religion, mental illness, or just an engaging, well-written story.
Because, really, who does that? Who?
Carlene Bauer has managed to pull off what might just be the best epistolary novel I’ve read since The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.
Frances and Bernard is loosely based on the real life friendship between Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell, but don’t feel like you need to know much about the two in order to enjoy this book. I knew very little about these two authors before going in. I’ve read many of their works, I knew that Lowell struggled with mental illness, that O’Connor died rather young, but precious little about their biographies or relationship. This book may have used Flannery and Robert as a touching-off point, but it works beautifully as its own independent little creature.
Novelist Frances and poet Bernard meet at a writer’s retreat in the late 50s. Bernard reaches out to Frances for conversation afterward, and the two continue to exchange letters for most of the next decade. Their relationship gradually becomes more and more complicated as professional allegiances, competing relationships, and Bernard’s psychological struggles come into play.
There’s some religious discussion in here – their initial conversations are based on a common interest in Catholicism – but it never feels like Bauer or her characters are hitting you over the head with dogma. I say that as a reader who’s pretty adverse to dogma in her fiction. This had just enough to give me a sense of the characters and some things to chew over without feeling like I was being hit over the head with a rosary.
The reason this book succeeded so well for me is how well-developed Frances and Bernard were. They both felt so real to me, as though I really were reading letters from people who had actually lived. They come to care a great deal about one another and the complexity of their relationship never came across as melodramatic – the fact that they are both successful literarians allows their letters to feel genuine and not over-the-top. The brevity of the book helped – Bauer doesn’t let the letters become bogged down in details that the characters wouldn’t naturally share with each other in this context, and yet it is easy to fill in the off-page action. Some exposition is provided by letters to additional characters peppered throughout, giving the reader additional insight into the intricacies of the central relationship without coming across too heavy-handed.
I loved this book. I’d recommend it to anyone interested in epistolary novels, the lives of literary giants, the writing process, the sixties, religion, mental illness, or just an engaging, well-written story.
February 21, 2013
I received this book for free as part of the Goodreads First Reads program.
Francis and Bernard is a novel composed mostly of letters between the two title characters, with some letters to and from a few intimate friends. What starts out as a mutual curiosity turns to spiritual sharing then deep friendship, love, heartbreak and finally, a mutual respect.
Francis is the more reserved of the two, and for awhile it is hard to tell whether or not she cares about Bernard. Bernard appears to suffer from some form of bipolar disorder as he is as high as a kite one letter, writing of his deep desire for Francis, and the next letter he's in a drunken heap on a stairwell. While reading their letters I really wanted them to fall hopelessly in love and marry each other. And while they fell in love, by the end I understood that for them to be together would ultimately hurt them. Francis did not want to take care of Bernard the way he wanted, and his illness would have devastated her. Francis was better off without him and ended up happy. I still wonder how happy Bernard was at the end.
The biggest downside of this novel was that a huge part of the beginning of the book revolved around their Catholic identity and spiritual questions and yearnings related to it. I'm not Catholic and have almost no understanding of Catholicism, so it was really hard to follow. Once their relationship transcended just the religious commonalities, it was much easier to read and enjoy the novel.
Francis and Bernard is a novel composed mostly of letters between the two title characters, with some letters to and from a few intimate friends. What starts out as a mutual curiosity turns to spiritual sharing then deep friendship, love, heartbreak and finally, a mutual respect.
Francis is the more reserved of the two, and for awhile it is hard to tell whether or not she cares about Bernard. Bernard appears to suffer from some form of bipolar disorder as he is as high as a kite one letter, writing of his deep desire for Francis, and the next letter he's in a drunken heap on a stairwell. While reading their letters I really wanted them to fall hopelessly in love and marry each other. And while they fell in love, by the end I understood that for them to be together would ultimately hurt them. Francis did not want to take care of Bernard the way he wanted, and his illness would have devastated her. Francis was better off without him and ended up happy. I still wonder how happy Bernard was at the end.
The biggest downside of this novel was that a huge part of the beginning of the book revolved around their Catholic identity and spiritual questions and yearnings related to it. I'm not Catholic and have almost no understanding of Catholicism, so it was really hard to follow. Once their relationship transcended just the religious commonalities, it was much easier to read and enjoy the novel.
January 26, 2013
I am giving this book 3 stars because the prose is wonderful as is the historical impetus for the novel. I did, however, get very tired early of the narrative style, book is all in letters, and I found it quite repetitive. How interesting, can a debate be on the Holy Spirit, the soul and other religious matters unless one is a theology major. The letters did give a view of the times, this takes place in the fifties, but the pacing was very slow, at least for me. Not one of my favorites but one to read just for the prose. ARC from publisher.
June 29, 2016
This is an epistolatory novel, and a beautiful one at that. The fact that it's written in letters and that these letters employ such beautiful language is its saving grace and the reason I'm giving it 3 stars. It is delightful for the most part, but I keep thinking of what I would like the ending to be, and perhaps that is not fair at all. It is what it is.
Frances and Bernard are two writers who meet at an artist's colony and engage in a conversation there and continue talking about God and art in letters. They sure talk a lot of religion with a fervor that is not quite up my alley. While I understood Bernard for the most part, I found Frances (and myself for not understanding her) stupid when she talks about God. She says that wanting to find God is ludicrous. I say, why believe in something you can't find? I don't believe in a God, but I understand faith, and and yet I think I cannot really comprehend what Frances says about God. She's very wise when she talks of there being the church and then there being the Church, I understand her emphasis on the existence of suffering, I understood her more when her faith wavered, but I still did not understand what exactly God was for her, and perhaps I really just cannot because I do not understand her religion, and that's okay, I think, although I really do not like not understanding things.
Bernard has depression and the way that manifests makes me want to cry for him. I love him more than a little for carrying on. I also loved how Bernard loved Frances. He says, "My love for you is real. When I think of you going about your life innocently and in full freedom and then being conscripted into my madness, I want to commit myself to an institution forever. How can I ever atone for having distorted you into an allegory? My madness is also real, but it is not as real as my love for you." And I also loved how Frances did love him while being afraid that she'll wake up one day and he'll disappear. And yet I hated Frances when she broke it off with him. And I hated Bernard more than I hated Frances for breaking it off with him when
I still do not know how to feel about the ending, and that is what keeps me from loving this otherwise delightful book. Perhaps Bernard and Frances were too emotionally taxing for each other. Perhaps that is why they were not meant to be. But the Romantic in me disagrees. Perhaps I need to re-read it in order to feel that it got the ending it deserved, which like I said, is unfair because I shouldn't be thinking of a book that wasn't written. I should be thinking of the book that was written. Fair ending or not, I have to accept it.
Frances and Bernard are two writers who meet at an artist's colony and engage in a conversation there and continue talking about God and art in letters. They sure talk a lot of religion with a fervor that is not quite up my alley. While I understood Bernard for the most part, I found Frances (and myself for not understanding her) stupid when she talks about God. She says that wanting to find God is ludicrous. I say, why believe in something you can't find? I don't believe in a God, but I understand faith, and and yet I think I cannot really comprehend what Frances says about God. She's very wise when she talks of there being the church and then there being the Church, I understand her emphasis on the existence of suffering, I understood her more when her faith wavered, but I still did not understand what exactly God was for her, and perhaps I really just cannot because I do not understand her religion, and that's okay, I think, although I really do not like not understanding things.
Bernard has depression and the way that manifests makes me want to cry for him. I love him more than a little for carrying on. I also loved how Bernard loved Frances. He says, "My love for you is real. When I think of you going about your life innocently and in full freedom and then being conscripted into my madness, I want to commit myself to an institution forever. How can I ever atone for having distorted you into an allegory? My madness is also real, but it is not as real as my love for you." And I also loved how Frances did love him while being afraid that she'll wake up one day and he'll disappear. And yet I hated Frances when she broke it off with him. And I hated Bernard more than I hated Frances for breaking it off with him when
I still do not know how to feel about the ending, and that is what keeps me from loving this otherwise delightful book. Perhaps Bernard and Frances were too emotionally taxing for each other. Perhaps that is why they were not meant to be. But the Romantic in me disagrees. Perhaps I need to re-read it in order to feel that it got the ending it deserved, which like I said, is unfair because I shouldn't be thinking of a book that wasn't written. I should be thinking of the book that was written. Fair ending or not, I have to accept it.
September 25, 2013
It’s no secret that Carlene Bauer takes as her models for her correspondents Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell; in fact, several reviewers have complained that those (real) voices have not been satisfactorily mimicked, or that Ms. Bauer ought to have worked with material of her own devising.
I confess that I am unmoved by both these objections. It may be heretical to say it, as someone who attended BU and sat in the Lowell room from time to time, but confessional is not my favored poetic brand, and I have been derelict in my scholarly duty to thoroughly read O’Connor (though what I have read is sublime). And why shouldn’t writers dip into the past or borrow historical figures, in whole or in part, as they tell their own stories? [That said, I think the voices of the wholly imagined characters -- Claire and Ted -- come through very strongly.]
So. I loved this book for its earnest but unwearisome approach to matters of faith, writing, love, and family, which, as you might suppose, are all connected. But humor, so often lost in conversations about weighty subjects (an understatement, I know), is wry and sly and happening all the time in this novel. Here’s my favorite zinger: “The Beats are really nothing more than a troop of malevolent Boy Scouts trying to earn badges for cultural arson” (14).
[Sidebar: I will be stealing one of Frances's lines for my Christmas/Hannukah cards this year: "Love and joy come to you, and to your wassail too" (9). I know it's too early to be thinking about Christmas, and yet: look at me go!]
I loved the way Frances and Bernard proceed almost immediately into matters of import, which I’ve found can happen when one starts a correspondence with someone not well known and not likely to be seen again, even if that’s something one would like. As I read the novel, I thought about my own treasured friendships, and resolved to write more letters.
I confess that I am unmoved by both these objections. It may be heretical to say it, as someone who attended BU and sat in the Lowell room from time to time, but confessional is not my favored poetic brand, and I have been derelict in my scholarly duty to thoroughly read O’Connor (though what I have read is sublime). And why shouldn’t writers dip into the past or borrow historical figures, in whole or in part, as they tell their own stories? [That said, I think the voices of the wholly imagined characters -- Claire and Ted -- come through very strongly.]
So. I loved this book for its earnest but unwearisome approach to matters of faith, writing, love, and family, which, as you might suppose, are all connected. But humor, so often lost in conversations about weighty subjects (an understatement, I know), is wry and sly and happening all the time in this novel. Here’s my favorite zinger: “The Beats are really nothing more than a troop of malevolent Boy Scouts trying to earn badges for cultural arson” (14).
[Sidebar: I will be stealing one of Frances's lines for my Christmas/Hannukah cards this year: "Love and joy come to you, and to your wassail too" (9). I know it's too early to be thinking about Christmas, and yet: look at me go!]
I loved the way Frances and Bernard proceed almost immediately into matters of import, which I’ve found can happen when one starts a correspondence with someone not well known and not likely to be seen again, even if that’s something one would like. As I read the novel, I thought about my own treasured friendships, and resolved to write more letters.
February 27, 2014
So far this is the best novel I've read this year (its only late February).
The author Carlene Bauer, uses a real decade long correspondence between Flannery O'Connor and Robert Lowell as her inspiration. While Lowell and O'Connor's relationship never blossomed to romance, this is an imagined conversation, and Bauer's character's are not wholly mappable upon their real counterparts.
This is an epistolary novel. Everything this happens in this novel is relayed by the post--mostly between her chief protangonists--Frances and Bernard and their close confidants. Bernard confides in his Harvard friend Ted--an aspiring writer, later turned lawyer. Frances best friend is Claire (yes Francis and Claire).
At the start of the novel, Frances the aspiring novelist and Bernard the poet are both Catholic and start a 'spiritual dialogue.' This blossoms into a deep friendship and romance which spans faith and doubt, darkness, mental illness and betrayal. This novel may not end happy in a pollyanna way, but I think it ends as it should.
More than anything, I found I loved Bauer's prose and found her writing compelling. I cared about these characters and wondered where their imagined conversation would lead. For me, this was a page turner.
The author Carlene Bauer, uses a real decade long correspondence between Flannery O'Connor and Robert Lowell as her inspiration. While Lowell and O'Connor's relationship never blossomed to romance, this is an imagined conversation, and Bauer's character's are not wholly mappable upon their real counterparts.
This is an epistolary novel. Everything this happens in this novel is relayed by the post--mostly between her chief protangonists--Frances and Bernard and their close confidants. Bernard confides in his Harvard friend Ted--an aspiring writer, later turned lawyer. Frances best friend is Claire (yes Francis and Claire).
At the start of the novel, Frances the aspiring novelist and Bernard the poet are both Catholic and start a 'spiritual dialogue.' This blossoms into a deep friendship and romance which spans faith and doubt, darkness, mental illness and betrayal. This novel may not end happy in a pollyanna way, but I think it ends as it should.
More than anything, I found I loved Bauer's prose and found her writing compelling. I cared about these characters and wondered where their imagined conversation would lead. For me, this was a page turner.
February 19, 2013
Sound the trumpets for an original, compelling, precise, heartbreaking first novel.
This book follows a love affair between two writers who share a love of language, art and religious faith. But he is an unstable drunkard poet from wealthy Boston, and she is a repressed novelist from Pennsylvania. Their relationship is all the more beautiful because it is doomed.
The novel is told entirely through letters, a risky form that sometimes slows the plot. But the thinking is so interesting, and the langauge so smart, that you keep reading until Bauer has you by the throat, dammit, and then everything falls apart. You cant help but worry for these characters, you root for them, you feel their sadness.
Only after finishing did I learn that F and B are modeled loosely after actual writers from a generation ago. I'm glad I didn;t know, because the players are actually true originals. The poet's mother is one of the most sharply drawn characters I've read in a long time.
A fast read, but the emotions will stay with you long after the last page. Bravo.
This book follows a love affair between two writers who share a love of language, art and religious faith. But he is an unstable drunkard poet from wealthy Boston, and she is a repressed novelist from Pennsylvania. Their relationship is all the more beautiful because it is doomed.
The novel is told entirely through letters, a risky form that sometimes slows the plot. But the thinking is so interesting, and the langauge so smart, that you keep reading until Bauer has you by the throat, dammit, and then everything falls apart. You cant help but worry for these characters, you root for them, you feel their sadness.
Only after finishing did I learn that F and B are modeled loosely after actual writers from a generation ago. I'm glad I didn;t know, because the players are actually true originals. The poet's mother is one of the most sharply drawn characters I've read in a long time.
A fast read, but the emotions will stay with you long after the last page. Bravo.
February 10, 2013
I vacillated between three and four stars for this one. I loved the epistolary style. I think the form suited the story. Bernard was based on Robert Lowell who has a lot of his correspondence collected so it makes sense that the story would be told in this way. I struggled with all the talk of God and religion. It was an integral part of the story, an integral thread in their correspondence but it did not engage me. Watching as Bernard falls apart, as Frances denies her ability to love, as the two cross each other, never able to find each other on the same page at the same time is heartbreaking, but you also know that what ultimately happens is "right", was bound to happen. If Robert Lowell's real history is any indication, life with his would have been no picnic. I would highly recommend Words in Air, the Collected Letters of Robert Lowell and Elizabeth Bishop, if you wanted to get a sense of Lowell's letter writing style.
June 26, 2012
This is a Houghton book, and I don't usually rate our books just out of fairness, but I am obsessed and I want to tell the world. Love, love, love. I strongly recommend this hugely compelling epistolary novel (I know, weird, right?) for anyone a little voyeuristic with a literary bent and a high tolerance for the teachings of Cathol. Took me a while to get past the religious aspect, because I hadn't realized that was a big part of Flannery O'Connor's life. I am ignorant. But somewhere around page 25, I was completely hooked. Ugh.
February 18, 2013
Frances and Bernard by Carlene Bauer is one of those rare books that make me want to buy up copies to give to everyone I know. Bauer writes an exquisite tale of Frances and Bernard entirely through letters and succeeds at creating characters that stay with the reader and make this reader want to reread the book again, another rare occurrence. I cannot praise Bauer’s, Frances and Bernard well enough, other than to highly suggest everyone pick up this beautiful book.
August 8, 2016
This is an excellent epistolary novel exploring faith, friendship, romance, and loss. Bauer writes beautifully about relationships that surprise us, change us, and become woven into who we are. While the friendship between Flannery O'Connor and Robert Lowell provides the substrate for her imagination, the story is entirely Bauer's own creation, and a worthwhile one, at that.
February 24, 2013
Beautiful. Heartbreaking. I fell in love with the language of it and the romance of it and the way my heart still hurts now that I've finished it.
It's brilliant but terrible in its lack of traditional happy ending. Both parties end up with - as harsh as this sounds - what they deserve, but God it still hurts.
I never expected to find myself enjoying a book that spoke so much about Catholic God and faith, but they speak of it in a way that's palpable to an agnostic Jew, which I think really says a lot. I don't shy away from conversations about faith, and in fact, find belief and adherence to those beliefs and searching for those beliefs to be a very real and human and admirable thing. The way the author intertwined the search for faith and the belief in religion with the search and belief in love was, for lack of a better description, done incredibly well. It didn't feel too didactic or heavy-handed, probably because Frances was so pragmatic about the whole thing. To say I enjoyed it doesn't pay homage to the way my heart feels torn apart, but throughout 3/4ths of this book, I did absolutely enjoy reading about Frances and Bernard falling in like and then in love and then I had to figure out what to do about how very much I respected Frances for her convictions and living up to them while I also very much believe in Bernard's declarations of love and try to live my own life believing in it.
*Spoiler alert in the next paragraph!
The one tiny glitch that I am still thinking about is how Bernard's character was framed after his marriage to Susan - all his infidelities. We are absolutely influenced by those we love most, and so though it is possible that Frances might have been influenced for the worse by Bernard's character, was it not also possible that in marrying Bernard, Frances could have been the making of him instead? Was Bernard's character allowed to run out of check because of Susan's character, herself?
That aside, it's going to take me a little while to build back up from all that again. Some books are supposed to make you feel like that.
I feel like I underlined half the book, but here are some particular favorites:
"I thought I had been growing up by unleashing my strength and mind onto the world, by imposing myself and not being afraid of it, but this suddenly began to seem like a lifetime of tantrums. I'd gotten used to having too much, at having whatever I willed become real, which had made my will promiscuous. Not strong at all." (19)
"She is a girl, but she is also an old man, and I see that there is intractability in her heart that may never be shattered. Perhaps that is because she grew up among women who love harder than they think, and she has strengthened her innate intractability in order to keep tunneling toward a place where she could write undisturbed by the demands of conventional femininity. So she may always think harder than she loves." (48)
"My life without you would certainly be less. That is one think I know." (77)
"'Bernard,' I said, and took his hand. 'No, no, that's not enough,' he said. He took the package out of my other hand, put it down on a chair, and then pulled me to him. He was right. That wasn't enough." (81)
"I wonder what of your mother was encoded in you without your knowing; what of your life is a letter she wrote you that you have just opened and will take your whole life to read." (85)
"...people who made a point to weave themselves together because they had poured out their blood among one another. They may be annoyed with each other, but they do not hate each other. They understand that annoyance is a fair price to pay for the strange protective love of family." (132)
"You rely on your books for things the rest of us search for in people... 'Your books need no help from me. They are for you alone. When you don't want to be alone, then here I am.'" (177)
It's brilliant but terrible in its lack of traditional happy ending. Both parties end up with - as harsh as this sounds - what they deserve, but God it still hurts.
I never expected to find myself enjoying a book that spoke so much about Catholic God and faith, but they speak of it in a way that's palpable to an agnostic Jew, which I think really says a lot. I don't shy away from conversations about faith, and in fact, find belief and adherence to those beliefs and searching for those beliefs to be a very real and human and admirable thing. The way the author intertwined the search for faith and the belief in religion with the search and belief in love was, for lack of a better description, done incredibly well. It didn't feel too didactic or heavy-handed, probably because Frances was so pragmatic about the whole thing. To say I enjoyed it doesn't pay homage to the way my heart feels torn apart, but throughout 3/4ths of this book, I did absolutely enjoy reading about Frances and Bernard falling in like and then in love and then I had to figure out what to do about how very much I respected Frances for her convictions and living up to them while I also very much believe in Bernard's declarations of love and try to live my own life believing in it.
*Spoiler alert in the next paragraph!
The one tiny glitch that I am still thinking about is how Bernard's character was framed after his marriage to Susan - all his infidelities. We are absolutely influenced by those we love most, and so though it is possible that Frances might have been influenced for the worse by Bernard's character, was it not also possible that in marrying Bernard, Frances could have been the making of him instead? Was Bernard's character allowed to run out of check because of Susan's character, herself?
That aside, it's going to take me a little while to build back up from all that again. Some books are supposed to make you feel like that.
I feel like I underlined half the book, but here are some particular favorites:
"I thought I had been growing up by unleashing my strength and mind onto the world, by imposing myself and not being afraid of it, but this suddenly began to seem like a lifetime of tantrums. I'd gotten used to having too much, at having whatever I willed become real, which had made my will promiscuous. Not strong at all." (19)
"She is a girl, but she is also an old man, and I see that there is intractability in her heart that may never be shattered. Perhaps that is because she grew up among women who love harder than they think, and she has strengthened her innate intractability in order to keep tunneling toward a place where she could write undisturbed by the demands of conventional femininity. So she may always think harder than she loves." (48)
"My life without you would certainly be less. That is one think I know." (77)
"'Bernard,' I said, and took his hand. 'No, no, that's not enough,' he said. He took the package out of my other hand, put it down on a chair, and then pulled me to him. He was right. That wasn't enough." (81)
"I wonder what of your mother was encoded in you without your knowing; what of your life is a letter she wrote you that you have just opened and will take your whole life to read." (85)
"...people who made a point to weave themselves together because they had poured out their blood among one another. They may be annoyed with each other, but they do not hate each other. They understand that annoyance is a fair price to pay for the strange protective love of family." (132)
"You rely on your books for things the rest of us search for in people... 'Your books need no help from me. They are for you alone. When you don't want to be alone, then here I am.'" (177)
December 14, 2015
Frances Reardon and Bernard Eliot meet by chance at a writers' workshop. They have one memorable lunch there and agree to begin a correspondence. They write each other their deepest thoughts on faith and their personal joys and trials. They occasionally write other friends about the events they experience together.
This is another desperate end-of-year reading challenge grab that paid off. I'd never even heard of this book but I started trolling through an "Epistolary novel" list, comparing it to what was available as an audio download from my library, and landed on this.
I loved it.
I don't know exactly what my reaction would have been to the novel in print, but I fell in love with both these characters on audio. Angela Brazil reads the female parts and Stephen R. Thorne obviously narrates the male voices. I shouldn't even write reads or narrates; they both perform this novel. I felt like Frances and Bernard were old friends. Their personalities leaped off the page for me. Or whatever the equivalent would be with an audio book.
I have a tendency to spell out every little detail of the books I'm reading to my husband, whether he wants to hear them or not. I try, mostly successfully, to curtail this but when a book excites me, I just can't help it; out it all comes. I think my husband got daily updates as I listened to this one. We'd be doing something completely unrelated and out of the blue I'd announce, "I'm really worried about Bernard."
"Who?"
"Bernard. You know. From my book."
"Oh."
"Things aren't looking good. I'm worried about the happily ever after."
"That's nice, dear."
He never promised to actually listen to all my bookish rattling, but at least he lets me get it out of my system!
At first, Frances and Bernard came dangerously close to seeming pretentious to me. They begin their correspondence with their thoughts on religion. I don't really discuss religion at all. The thought of sharing my deepest feelings with someone, much less a near-stranger, just shrivels up my insides. These two carry it off well though, and before things got too caught up in faith and spirituality, they had moved on to other topics. Faith did always remain a touchstone of their correspondence though.
Their letters were hilarious, intelligent, heart-felt, insightful, sarcastic, touching, heart-breaking, and caring. I truly felt like I went through years of the lives of real people.
I highly recommend this book, especially on audio. The emotion may wring you out but you'll be so glad you got to meet Frances and Bernard.
This is another desperate end-of-year reading challenge grab that paid off. I'd never even heard of this book but I started trolling through an "Epistolary novel" list, comparing it to what was available as an audio download from my library, and landed on this.
I loved it.
I don't know exactly what my reaction would have been to the novel in print, but I fell in love with both these characters on audio. Angela Brazil reads the female parts and Stephen R. Thorne obviously narrates the male voices. I shouldn't even write reads or narrates; they both perform this novel. I felt like Frances and Bernard were old friends. Their personalities leaped off the page for me. Or whatever the equivalent would be with an audio book.
I have a tendency to spell out every little detail of the books I'm reading to my husband, whether he wants to hear them or not. I try, mostly successfully, to curtail this but when a book excites me, I just can't help it; out it all comes. I think my husband got daily updates as I listened to this one. We'd be doing something completely unrelated and out of the blue I'd announce, "I'm really worried about Bernard."
"Who?"
"Bernard. You know. From my book."
"Oh."
"Things aren't looking good. I'm worried about the happily ever after."
"That's nice, dear."
He never promised to actually listen to all my bookish rattling, but at least he lets me get it out of my system!
At first, Frances and Bernard came dangerously close to seeming pretentious to me. They begin their correspondence with their thoughts on religion. I don't really discuss religion at all. The thought of sharing my deepest feelings with someone, much less a near-stranger, just shrivels up my insides. These two carry it off well though, and before things got too caught up in faith and spirituality, they had moved on to other topics. Faith did always remain a touchstone of their correspondence though.
Their letters were hilarious, intelligent, heart-felt, insightful, sarcastic, touching, heart-breaking, and caring. I truly felt like I went through years of the lives of real people.
I highly recommend this book, especially on audio. The emotion may wring you out but you'll be so glad you got to meet Frances and Bernard.
April 7, 2013
“More than kisses, letters mingle souls.” –John Donne
I love letters—both writing and receiving them. It’s a lost art and an intimate form of communication. Perhaps it is these feelings that make me especially receptive to the epistolary novel. The obvious has only occurred to me recently, but I flat-out love them. Where’d You Go, Bernadette?; The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society; and The Lawgiver were all favorite reads within the last few months. Epistolary novels have an unusual structure. For me, it’s just an exceptionally interesting and non-linear way to tell a story.
The other thing is, our voices come alive in our correspondence. Within the first few pages of Frances and Bernard, I’d fallen in love with both of the titular characters. I could hear their voices so clearly through the letters they wrote. They were funny, intellectual, literate—no wonder these two hit it off immediately when they met at a writers’ colony in 1957. Frances is a novelist, not yet published, and Bernard, a poet, with a bit more of a track record. The book follows their correspondence for just over a decade.
According to the novel’s jacket copy, these two are loosely based upon Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell. May I be honest? I don’t know a thing about these literary progenitors. I’m sure an intimate knowledge of O’Connor and Lowell’s history and work would have added untold richness to my read. However, my ignorance detracted nothing as far as I can tell, and made their story feel completely fresh and unexpected to me.
Truthfully, I’m rather surprised by just how much I liked this debut. It should be noted that a significant percentage of Frances and Bernard’s correspondence with each other deals with matters of Catholicism and faith—not my favorite subject matter. For me, this tale was ALL about the two central characters that were so beautifully realized by Carlene Bauer. What is the nature of their connection, and where will it lead? Bernard writes to his best friend:
“You have posited that she may have, your words, a thing for me, but I don’t think she does, and I am fairly sure that I don’t have one for her. I kept looking at her from different angles and examining my response. Various types of affection flared up in her presence, but not romance.”
Don’t expect the typical boy-meets-girl tale. Later he writes to the same friend, “…she knew me when I was at my most Bernard and I knew her when she was at her most Frances.” I ask you, who wouldn’t want to be known like that?
I love letters—both writing and receiving them. It’s a lost art and an intimate form of communication. Perhaps it is these feelings that make me especially receptive to the epistolary novel. The obvious has only occurred to me recently, but I flat-out love them. Where’d You Go, Bernadette?; The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society; and The Lawgiver were all favorite reads within the last few months. Epistolary novels have an unusual structure. For me, it’s just an exceptionally interesting and non-linear way to tell a story.
The other thing is, our voices come alive in our correspondence. Within the first few pages of Frances and Bernard, I’d fallen in love with both of the titular characters. I could hear their voices so clearly through the letters they wrote. They were funny, intellectual, literate—no wonder these two hit it off immediately when they met at a writers’ colony in 1957. Frances is a novelist, not yet published, and Bernard, a poet, with a bit more of a track record. The book follows their correspondence for just over a decade.
According to the novel’s jacket copy, these two are loosely based upon Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell. May I be honest? I don’t know a thing about these literary progenitors. I’m sure an intimate knowledge of O’Connor and Lowell’s history and work would have added untold richness to my read. However, my ignorance detracted nothing as far as I can tell, and made their story feel completely fresh and unexpected to me.
Truthfully, I’m rather surprised by just how much I liked this debut. It should be noted that a significant percentage of Frances and Bernard’s correspondence with each other deals with matters of Catholicism and faith—not my favorite subject matter. For me, this tale was ALL about the two central characters that were so beautifully realized by Carlene Bauer. What is the nature of their connection, and where will it lead? Bernard writes to his best friend:
“You have posited that she may have, your words, a thing for me, but I don’t think she does, and I am fairly sure that I don’t have one for her. I kept looking at her from different angles and examining my response. Various types of affection flared up in her presence, but not romance.”
Don’t expect the typical boy-meets-girl tale. Later he writes to the same friend, “…she knew me when I was at my most Bernard and I knew her when she was at her most Frances.” I ask you, who wouldn’t want to be known like that?
February 6, 2014
I had to finally close the book at page 261, tired of the theological (Irish Catholic) references to sin & saints. Also, the literary references were to works by authors unfamiliar to me. That made it hard for me to understand some of the context of their discussion and I was too frustrated by this too continue reading until, as one reviewer indicates, the characters' relationship transcends the religious issues. I do share the experience of having a dear fiend (in my case two lovers at different times) in mental hospitals and/or on Thorazine. However, I did not feel Frances provided any insight or showed much emotion that I could relate to in such a major event. I might pick it up later, but probably not.
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