Is it a Novel, or a Dream?
‘The Covenant of Water’ bubbles, gurgles, and flows like a stream
In a scene from The Covenant of Water, the ethereal Celeste hastily drapes on a silk sari before drifting off to sleep. On my walk the next morning, I was thinking of the events that unfold after this scene. I was so overcome by the grief and terror and the unspeakable sadness, tears stung my eyes and I drew in quick, anxiety-filled breaths.
The Covenant of Water had this effect on me, again and again and again. Every page is breathtaking, and every other sentence is a lyric. Which do I choose? The wide-eyed bride’s entry into an unfamiliar world? Her final embrace with her daughter? A child’s deadly love for the trees? A young doctor’s protest against patriarchy? Her beloved’s war against oppression? An artist’s impression of the world? When I think of the novel, these jostle in my brain, each more beautiful, powerful, and well-written than the other.
After I had a baby, I could not read. The words were like gibberish on a page. I lacked focus, and nothing held me to any book. I who read dozens a books a year, could not finish a single book in a dozen months. As the baby started to detach himself from me and explore the world, and as my brain became a little clearer each day, I finally started to find meaning in books again.
