Tim Wynne-Jones
Glimpse is an example of the verse novel at its finest. It follows the emotional trajectory of 12-year-old Hope, who one day walks in on her older sister Lizzie holding a gun, thinking about shooting herself. Lizzie ends up hospitalized with near-catatonic depression, and Hope is desperate to understand why.
The love between these sisters is beautifully realized and totally convincing. It is the light in a very dark story, because, as we slowly realize, Lizzie is being badly abused by her mother, a prostitute who is forcing Lizzie to follow in her footsteps. Hope has been kept sheltered by Lizzie, which is how her mother has been keeping Lizzie compliant (she threatens that if Lizzie tells anyone, she will press Hope into service as well). There is a strong quality of protectiveness in the relationship between the two girls, and Hope has many memories of being protected by Lizzie's extraordinary courage, which is a strong contrast to their mother's self-centeredness.
Once,
a long time ago,
Momma
took us to the river.
I was little,
just learning to swim.
Momma fastened an orange
Styrofoam bubble around
my waist to keep me afloat....
I love my babies,
Momma said.
Run into the water, Hope...
Momma was quiet a moment,
then she said,
Moccasins.
My God, they're moccasins.
Run, Hope.
Run, Liz.
The snakes must have
seen us by then. They
turned in our direction.
Momma didn't pick a thing up.
Not the umbrella,
not the towel she sat on,
Not even that sweet smelling
olive oil.
She just ran,
leaving me and Liz behind.
Wait,
Liz hollered after her.
Wait for us.
Liz grabbed
me by the hand
but all of a sudden
I couldn't even move.
Baby,
Lizzie said.
Come on.
She tried to pick me up,
but that bubble
made it hard.
Now the snakes were
on land and coming fast,
so fast,
and I couldn't move.
Come on, Liz, Hope,
Momma called.
She was a good ways away.
The rain kept coming down
all silver looking.
It ran in my eyes.
Liz!
Just leave Hope there,
Momma called.
Her voice was scared.
Leave her and run to me.
Liz grabbed the belt
of the bubble and
pulled me along,
like you might a pup
tha didn't want to follow.
Liz screamed,
Hope.
Now the snakes were so close
I could see their eyes.
One opened its mouth
and I saw the white cotton.
Run,
Liz screamed at me.
And somehow
I could move.
We ran
together.
Williams' storytelling is spare and beautiful. As glimpses of Hope's memories and observations accumulate, she begins to understand that there is a secret between their mother and Lizzie which is somehow at the root of Lizzie's despair. Williams conveys Hope's fear of learning the nature of this secret and knowing what Lizzie has gone through, and her guilt as she slowly realizes that Lizzie had been obliquely asking for help without Hope understanding. Hope in the end becomes her sister's protector, unveiling the truth through the diary which Lizzie had left for her to find and confronting their predatory mother, who flees rather than face the authorities.
Glimpse is a strong book that sometimes hurts to read, a book where home is "haunted" by bad dreams that turn out to be real. It's a page-turner which skillfully captures the point of view of a 12-year-old enmeshed in frighteningly adult situations. But there is a tenderness to this book all the same. This is the kind of book where you feel that the author cares deeply about her characters, and you're glad, because you care too. I'm glad that Williams leavened the ending with some surrogate parent figures stepping in; a kindly neighbour to foster the girls, a caring psychiatrist to help both sisters heal emotionally. I was so invested in Hope and, through her, in Lizzie, that I would have found the story unbearably bleak otherwise. It is, in the end, a story about love, about those who are capable of giving it and those who aren't. It's a story I could easily re-read many times. I won't forget it soon.
