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A review by chrissie_whitley
The Distant Hours by Kate Morton
5.0
My favorite [a:Kate Morton|615274|Kate Morton|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1444262471p2/615274.jpg] book; it’s utterly enchanting.
Morton’s introductions typically feel like that first opening of the gate into a secret garden, or opening the door on Anne Frank’s house, or the sighting of a famous, almost mythical, painting. The otherworldliness, the mystery that awaits within, is something expected and found in Morton's fiction. As the summary states, and as is typical with a Morton story, we are shown in rotation the past and the present, offered different points-of-view, get a glimpse into others' letters and we are shown snippets of other books within this one. All of this is a simple gathering of clues—necessary for the unraveling of any good mystery.
A dreamlike quote, reminiscent of Manderlay, lays ground for such moodiness and puzzling and enthralling enigmas that ache to be solved and answered.
It would be hard to select a favorite narrator of them all, or a preferred time period for that matter, because they are all—Edie, Meredith, Saffy, Percy, Juniper, Raymond, and Tom in their various eras and incarnations—essential to the story. And, with a touch of surprising whimsy, there’s an interesting injection of second-person narration within Edie's voice, where the narrator is speaking directly to the reader.
I was struck by many things as I read this novel. One, that it reminded me very much, of the quote I used when reviewing [b:The Secret Keeper|13508607|The Secret Keeper|Kate Morton|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1455089196s/13508607.jpg|19060869]:
We head into familiar territory with the characters from The Distant Hours ; a theme Morton handles well. Because, then the focus is on the characters—not the actual secret—and how they’ll handle the truths when they out.
And there’s so much truth in that quote. I, myself, have a diverse, varied, and somewhat juicy family history of life that came before me. But, while I was hungry for information and family tales, I never seemed to have appetite enough to broach the subject. Or, sometimes it was simply easier to put it aside for later. Later doesn’t often come when you expect. It creeps up on you, and sometimes never shows at all. Plus, you’re so full of yourself and who you are and what you’ll become that there’s hardly any room to spare for others’ stories and beginnings.
Two, I became very aware of the historical quality of the “present day” taking place in 1992 in this novel. Edie is the guide within this story; she is why we visit 1939, 1940, and 1941. Edie is the reason we explore the lives of and care about Percy, Saffy, young Merry, Juniper, Raymond, and even poor Tom. And yet, hers is from a time gone as well. No internet, no cell phones, no navigational devices, and no easy connections to be made. This is clearly deliberate on Morton’s part. The magic would’ve been lost if Edie could’ve simply researched everything herself online. Perhaps, someone would’ve already done so. Or, we can go back farther and say Edie would never have been led to Milderhurst Castle in the first place by means of getting lost in the country. Her GPS would’ve guided her through and back to town. So that, even if she had decided to explore more about the evacuation-time home of her mother, Milderhurst Castle, she would’ve just thumbed around online…and there’s very little magic left with that notion.
Edie’s exploration of a part of her mother’s past of which she was previously and completely unaware has a strong tone of sadness playing around it. It’s melancholy in the most relatable way as she discovers the real Meredith hiding beneath the guise of Mum.
But the real driving force behind this mystery are the Sisters Blythe and their castle. They are not to be discounted or cast to the perimeter; singular and yet only as a part of one unit, they are the guardians connecting all the episodes into one.
Morton’s introductions typically feel like that first opening of the gate into a secret garden, or opening the door on Anne Frank’s house, or the sighting of a famous, almost mythical, painting. The otherworldliness, the mystery that awaits within, is something expected and found in Morton's fiction. As the summary states, and as is typical with a Morton story, we are shown in rotation the past and the present, offered different points-of-view, get a glimpse into others' letters and we are shown snippets of other books within this one. All of this is a simple gathering of clues—necessary for the unraveling of any good mystery.
I dreamed of Milderhurst that night.
A dreamlike quote, reminiscent of Manderlay, lays ground for such moodiness and puzzling and enthralling enigmas that ache to be solved and answered.
It would be hard to select a favorite narrator of them all, or a preferred time period for that matter, because they are all—Edie, Meredith, Saffy, Percy, Juniper, Raymond, and Tom in their various eras and incarnations—essential to the story. And, with a touch of surprising whimsy, there’s an interesting injection of second-person narration within Edie's voice, where the narrator is speaking directly to the reader.
I was struck by many things as I read this novel. One, that it reminded me very much, of the quote I used when reviewing [b:The Secret Keeper|13508607|The Secret Keeper|Kate Morton|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1455089196s/13508607.jpg|19060869]:
Children don’t require of their parents a past and they find something faintly unbelievable, almost embarrassing, in parental claims to a prior existence.
We head into familiar territory with the characters from The Distant Hours ; a theme Morton handles well. Because, then the focus is on the characters—not the actual secret—and how they’ll handle the truths when they out.
And there’s so much truth in that quote. I, myself, have a diverse, varied, and somewhat juicy family history of life that came before me. But, while I was hungry for information and family tales, I never seemed to have appetite enough to broach the subject. Or, sometimes it was simply easier to put it aside for later. Later doesn’t often come when you expect. It creeps up on you, and sometimes never shows at all. Plus, you’re so full of yourself and who you are and what you’ll become that there’s hardly any room to spare for others’ stories and beginnings.
Two, I became very aware of the historical quality of the “present day” taking place in 1992 in this novel. Edie is the guide within this story; she is why we visit 1939, 1940, and 1941. Edie is the reason we explore the lives of and care about Percy, Saffy, young Merry, Juniper, Raymond, and even poor Tom. And yet, hers is from a time gone as well. No internet, no cell phones, no navigational devices, and no easy connections to be made. This is clearly deliberate on Morton’s part. The magic would’ve been lost if Edie could’ve simply researched everything herself online. Perhaps, someone would’ve already done so. Or, we can go back farther and say Edie would never have been led to Milderhurst Castle in the first place by means of getting lost in the country. Her GPS would’ve guided her through and back to town. So that, even if she had decided to explore more about the evacuation-time home of her mother, Milderhurst Castle, she would’ve just thumbed around online…and there’s very little magic left with that notion.
Edie’s exploration of a part of her mother’s past of which she was previously and completely unaware has a strong tone of sadness playing around it. It’s melancholy in the most relatable way as she discovers the real Meredith hiding beneath the guise of Mum.
Nighttime is different. Things are otherwise when the world is black. Insecurities and hurts, anxieties and fears grow teeth at night. Particularly when one is sleeping in a strange, old castle with a storm outside.
But the real driving force behind this mystery are the Sisters Blythe and their castle. They are not to be discounted or cast to the perimeter; singular and yet only as a part of one unit, they are the guardians connecting all the episodes into one.
These weren’t just any walls, these were the stones of Milderhurst Castle, beneath whose skin the distant hours were whispering, watching.