THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, June 25, 1995 TAG: 9506220591
SECTION: COMMENTARY PAGE: J2 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Book Review
SOURCE: BY RENEE ELLEN OLANDER
LENGTH: Medium: 76 lines
PAULA
ISABEL ALLENDE
HarperCollins. 330 pp. $24.
I CONFESS I approached Paula with trepidation, expecting to be depressed by Isabel Allende's autobiographical response to her daughter's terminal illness. Thankfully, the book is far from maudlin, and readers who have laughed and cried through Allende's best-selling novels won't be disappointed.
The book begins as Paula, Allende's 28-year-old daughter, is misdiagnosed in a Spanish hospital and slips into a coma. Vigilant at her bedside, Allende begins to write her a letter, hoping it will bring Paula back to life, or, at least, that she will read it when she wakes.
Paula does not wake from her ``inky darkness.'' But Allende's bedside meditation, like her daughter's long chestnut braids, is a thing of beauty. It grows away from its source, bringing Allende's family to life and weaving her biography with Chilean history, political and feminist commentary, spiritual revelation and a philosophy for writing fiction.
The quirky cast of stranger-than-fiction characters peopling the book reveals much about Allende's methods. Her clairvoyant grandmother, for instance, moved sugar bowls with her mind and served as the model for Clara of The House of the Spirits. But because her grandmother died when Allende was too young to have many memories, Clara, Allende's favorite among her characters, is mostly invented. ``We all need a grandmother,'' she explains.
As the narrative moves chronologically through her childhood, marriage and motherhood, her journalistic and television careers, her years of exile and personal upheaval, and the evolution of her fiction, Allende pauses at intervals to observe the ``monstrous'' hospital and her daughter's worsening condition. We see a desperate mother searching for meaning in her tragedy and discover that Paula slowly becomes an angel.
Evidence of the supernatural in Allende's fiction has caused reviewers to label her style ``magical realism,'' but in a recent talk Allende maintained that rather than using a literary device, she simply renders reality fully, and ``we live in a weird place.''
There are too many mystical characters and events to count - devils escape from mirrors to terrorize Latin Americans, soothsayers' prophecies come true, and evidence of the power of prayer abounds. But perhaps the most poignant moment is when, having transported her comatose daughter from Spain to her California home in the futile wish to rehabilitate her, Allende finally opens the letter Paula had written and sealed upon waking from a nightmare on her honeymoon. Paula's plea not to be trapped inside her body is heartbreaking, and it signals to her mother that she must give up the fight against death.
In fact, the death scene shimmers. The family - living and dead - gathers to hold a nightlong vigil, amid candlelight and Paula's favorite music. And in her suffering and death, Paula offers lessons. Among them are Allende's recognition of her own ``interior spaces'' and the uselessness of fear.
What's astonishing, however, is how much of Paula is a romp - it is much more Allende's story than her daughter's, and the comedy and wit make us laugh aloud. She hilariously relates her gratitude for living in the age of the Pill, Paula's repeated IQ tests of her, which proved her retardation, and the prank she pulled to get her first job. Actually, Allende's spunk is what keeps the book afloat. Not a moment is dull.
Ultimately, Paula exceeds Allende's attempt to entertain herself during her nightmare; the audience shifts from Paula to us, and in her brutally honest examination of herself and her times, Allende reminds us that life, despite being ``the noise between two unfathomable silences,'' is musical after all. MEMO: Renee Ellen Olander is a poet and English instructor at Old Dominion
University. ILLUSTRATION: Photo
Isabel Allende
by CNB