The Pull of the Stars is another excellent novel from Emma Donoghue. Her level of research is impressive, as always, but it never overwhelms the humanity of her characters or the emotion of her chosen subjects. I was a little reluctant to read a novel about a pandemic in the middle of a pandemic, but there are moments of hope woven in that speak as much to the current crisis as they do to the grief and fear felt in 1918. I will say that this isn’t a happy novel, so if you’re seeking something light with a happy ending to escape from the weight of the world right now, I’d suggest you put this one aside for a few months.
While the writing in The Pull of the Stars is always clear and well-crafted, I struggled a lot at first with the lack of quotation marks. Their absence adds to the immediacy of the novel’s action, but it took me about half the book to adjust to the technique and, in the meantime, I was often taken out of the action by my inability to identify whether a sentence was speech (and, if so, who was saying it). I can be a bit slow with this sort of thing, so I’m sure other readers will adapt almost immediately.
I also found that my enjoyment of the book waned a little for the last of the four parts. I loved the first three sections and felt like there was a good mix of realistic sadness and of lighter moments that helped it not to feel ceaselessly depressing. The final part takes away much of what made the earlier sections hopeful, however, and the replacement felt a bit like an eradication of queerness so that the protagonist could take up the pure duty of motherhood in a world where women are expected to show their love for their husbands by bearing them a dozen children.
This is a personal reaction, as a lesbian who is really struggling with the bleakness of the world right now, and I acknowledge that there is an enormous difference between a straight author employing these negative queer tropes and a lesbian author doing the same. The final part doesn’t take away from the great writing in the novel as a whole—it just made me wish that I had delayed reading it until a time when I didn’t need to seek hope in fiction due to a lack of it in the real world.