Peter and Rebecca Harris, midforties, are prosperous
denizens of Manhattan. He’s an art dealer, she’s an editor. They live well.
They have their troubles—their ebbing passions, their wayward daughter, and
certain doubts about their careers—but they feel as though they’re happy. Happy
enough. Until Rebecca’s much younger, look-alike brother, Ethan (known in the
family as Mizzy, short for the Mistake), comes to visit. And after he arrives,
nothing will ever be the same again.
This poetic and compelling masterpiece is a
heartbreaking look at a marriage and the way we now live. Full of shocks and
aftershocks, By Nightfall is a novel about the uses and meaning of beauty, and
the place of love in our lives.
My Thoughts on "By Nightfall":
I was very much looking forward
to meeting Mr Cunningham, particularly as a good friend whose taste in
literature I respect is such an avid fan of his work. This was probably a very good
introduction, being a book which is neither particularly long nor particularly
confronting.

Was Peter wrong to allow himself
to develop the feelings he did for Mizzy? I think those feelings were not
really homosexual at all; I think they were a longing to reconnect with his
dead brother and with the younger Rebecca, to feel younger than he ever has,
and of course to become the owner of an object of beauty which he could
normally not afford; as an art dealer, the perfect young male is the absolute
work of art. And Peter, of course - no different to Rebecca - is used callously
by Mizzy.
What a nasty little piece of work
is Mizzy! I would put him into one of those special categories of absolute cads
which we come across periodically in literature, somebody in whom you find no
redeeming qualities. Hiss, Mizzy – I hope you grow a wart on your nose, one
with thick bristles sprouting from it.
There were a few passages in the
book which I thought absolutely spot on, as per:
Peter philosophising:
“The
problem with the truth is, it’s so often mild and clichéd.”
Or talking here about his parents:
“Their father,
handsome but a little blank, unfinished-looking, vaguely Finnish, never fully
adapted to his good fortune in marrying their mother, and lived in his marriage
the way an impoverished relation might live in the spare room.”
Peter again, and this perhaps is
the entire back-story to his infatuation with the beautiful Mizzy:
“He was the
reliable, unexceptional one; the good-enough boy.”
How terrible to be thus
described, or to believe yourself to be thus described.
Further on in the book, a
paragraph quoted frequently for the simple reason it is so beautifully eloquent
and elegant:
“Peter glances
out at the falling snow. Oh, little man. You have brought down your house not
through passion but by neglect. You who dared to think of yourself as
dangerous. You are guilty not of the epic transgressions but the tiny crimes.
You have failed in the most base and human of ways – you have not imagined the
lives of others.”
I think that is one of the finest
paragraphs I have ever read.
I loved the last line of this
book, “He begins to tell her everything that has happened.” Did he really?
Honestly? Do you believe that? Not sure whether I do or no.
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