O’Nan’s writing is wise and wry. He pinpoints the absurdities of human behavior ... There’s not a ton of plot in Evensong, which seems right for a book that’s mainly interested in showing us, in detail, how these women live. But O’Nan’s writing builds in power over the course of the book, ending as you’d expect an evensong service to conclude: with a prayer.
Not as piercingly intimate as the masterful Emily, Alone, but in its breadth it might be wiser and more encompassing. It is about responsibility and community, written with gentle humor and empathy but not an ounce of sentimentality ... How can a novel about getting old, losing friends, growing frail, be anything but depressing? But in O’Nan’s hands it is buoyant and hopeful ... His novels are unexpected and very different from one another. But always, he is a master at quotidian details, a master at human emotion. Always, he writes with a huge and generous heart ... Tender and funny, poignant and true. The novel is a little miracle: here it is, life, on the page.
Despite the inevitable emotion it engenders, Evensong is noteworthy for its lack of sentimentality. Emily and her cohort are admirable survivors, resolutely absorbing the blows that life administers in one's waning years, yet rising each morning with gratitude to greet another day ... Empathetic, but decidedly honest.
O’Nan proves that he has no peers when it comes to evoking the quotidian challenges and routines of daily life. It’s a bittersweet celebration of the twilight years.
