| Title | : | Felicia's Journey |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | - |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 212 |
| Publication | : | First published August 25, 1994 |
| Awards | : | Whitbread Award Novel and Book of the Year (1994), Los Angeles Times Book Prize Fiction (1995) |
9780140253603
Felicia is unmarried, pregnant, and penniless. She steals away from a small Irish town and drifts through the industrial English Midlands, searching for the boyfriend who left her. Instead she meets up with the fat, fiftyish, unfailingly reasonable Mr. Hilditch, who is looking for a new friend to join the five other girls in his Memory Lane. But the strange, sad, terrifying tricks of chance unravel both his and Felicia's delusions in a story that will magnetize fans of Alfred Hitchcock and Ruth Rendell even as it resonates with William Trevor's own "impeccable strength and piercing profundity" (The Washington Post Book World).
Felicia's Journey Reviews
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PICCOLA STORIA IGNOBILE
Atom Egoyan ha diretto il film omonimo nel 1999 col quale fu candidato alla Palma d’Oro.
Se lo è, è un ben strano romanzo di formazione.
All’apparenza potrebbe esserlo perché Felicia ha appena diciassette anni e parte per un viaggio che le fa lasciare il paese dove è nata, l’Irlanda, attraversare il mare per andare in terra nemica, l’Inghilterra.
Nelle midlands, che non sono le highlands degli ottimi single malt: sono invece una zona dell’Inghilterra che si fa presto a trasformare in cupa e deprimente. Abilità che William Trevor, irlandese trapiantato in terra d’Albione, sicuramente possiede.
Felicia e Hilditch nel film: Elaine Cassidy e Bob Hoskins.
Felicia ha 17 anni e un figlio in grembo. Il cui padre è Johnny, un ragazzo di qualche anno più grande di lei, che ha lasciato l’Irlanda per andare a lavorare in Inghilterra. Ha detto di esser stato assunto in una fabbrica di falciatrici per giardino, ma così non è, lavora invece per l’esercito inglese. Però Felicia non scoprirà mai la verità, e non ritroverà mai Johnny che le ha volutamente lasciato recapito vago e ambiguo, non rintracciabile.
E quindi, è facile intuire che il viaggio di Felicia è un viaggio esistenziale. Ma non so quanto l’incontro col signor Hilditch l’aiuti a formarsi: le insegna, o ribadisce, che il male esiste, che può assumere ogni forma e annidarsi anche dove meno l’aspetti. Ma è davvero un insegnamento formativo?
Allora forse meglio leggere questo gradevole romanzo come falso thriller, che man mano addirittura vira al gotico e ci presenta un serial killer. Perché il signor Hilditch, che nel nome nasconde la sua passione e ci ricorda quanto gli piaccia scavare buche e fosse, che nell’aspetto rotondo e bonario sembra proprio un buon diavolo, si manifesta lentamente essere tutt’altro. Qualcuno che sarebbe meglio evitare.
Senza nascondersi che nel suo strano viaggio, Felicia di incontri strani ne fa più di uno, a cominciare da quello con una lingua che è la sua stessa ma pronunciata in un modo che lei fa fatica a comprendere, passando per il rifugio di barboni dove dorme i primi tempi, e passando per la confraternita fondamentalista che a un certo punto l’accoglie.
Anche qui Trevor sfodera la sua capacità di raccontare la superficie delle cose e delle persone, riuscendone a poco a poco a scoprire il cuore nascosto e pulsante: parte da pochi elementi, da un personaggio all’apparenza niente di speciale e un po’ alla volta riesce a costruire un mondo perfettamente autonomo, in cui da lettore mi sono immerso come nell’acqua del mare per una magnifica, rigenerante nuotata.
Il signor Hilditch fatica a credere che nessuno di quelli che incontra sappia che meno di otto ore fa, all’una e venti di notte, sulla soglia di casa sua, ha lanciato quella proposta, e che di conseguenza ha una ragazza irlandese sconosciuta sotto il suo tetto. Vivi tutta la vita imponendoti regole ferree. Sempre lì a prendere precauzioni per quello che può dire la gente. Poi, in un istante, lasci perdere tutto quanto.
Un’altra piccola storia ignobile:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKj3K...
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Not your usual Trevor. A bit of a mystery and almost noir.
A young woman in Ireland takes the ferry to England searching for the father of her unborn baby. He may (or may not) be “working in a lawnmower factory” in the Midlands as he said. Or, as is rumored, he may be in the British army, a travesty according to the woman’s family. The great-grandmother who lives with them lost a son and a husband to “The Troubles” and spends her time caretaking a memorial scrapbook, so this family is very anti-English. If the young woman’s boyfriend is truly in the British Army, that’s the end of this romance as far as her family is concerned. Her mother is dead, so she’s basically been a household slave to the bed-ridden great-grandma, her father and two working brothers.
In England she can’t find her boyfriend, runs out of the little money she brought, and spends time living on the street and with a group of religious fanatics who give her shelter. Eventually she runs into a “helpful” unmarried 50-ish man who ends up spending all his time with her, driving her around looking for the father of her baby, letting her live in his house, and encouraging her to get an abortion. This is where the story gets interesting and very un-Trevor-like.
The overweight man runs a factory cafeteria. He lives in the same house he grew up in, all alone since his mother died years ago. He is friendless and when he has a day off he sits at home with tea and toast listening to old 78 rpm records. He meditates about other young women he has targeted for “help” just like this one. He thinks of her as “The Irish one” and listens to her problems: “He knows she had one; all of them have a tale of woe.” He worries that he has delusional insanity and he calls the door-to-door religious people “God-botherers.”
So here’s the mystery: Is he a serial killer as the Irish woman comes to believe? If he’s a killer, why hasn’t he killed or attacked her already? After all, he’s had plenty of opportunity -- he spends days with her driving her around and she’s living in his extra bedroom. Why is he offering to pay for her abortion? But where are all these other girls he has “helped?”
Great writing. For example, I loved this: “‘Aren’t you the pretty one!’ Dirty Keery used to call out, lying in wait in Devlin’s Lane. But that was different because he said it to all the girls going by, trying to get them to come close to him. And he was blind in any case.” A good read.
Photo of an Irish village from Shutterstock -
The lower your self-esteem the more prone you are to believing the lies you tell yourself, the more prone you are to ignoring factual realities. Sometimes these lies become the guiding principle, in lieu of mounting contrary evidence, of how you see yourself and what you do. This is my second Trevor book and both have been studies in the art of self-deception and its eventual irrevocable sculpting of identity.
Perhaps the first thing to say is that this was one of the creepiest books I've ever read. A literary author entering the realms of more commercial sensationalist subject matter and on the whole doing an impressive job. It seems to be another trait of Trevor's that, though there's a kind of lilting gentleness about his prose, shock/horror news headline stories provided the pivot for two of the three narratives of his I've read.
Felicia has a fling with a boy who is visiting his mother in Ireland. He soon returns to England where he tells her he works in a factory. Rumour though has it he's in the British army which would make him a pariah for Felicia's Catholic family and most of the town. Felicia discovers she's pregnant, convinces herself he loves her, steals some family money and sneaks off to England to find him, despite having no address. Here she meets Mr Hilditch, an overweight bachelor locked into a regimented routine of banality, ostensibly the personification of middle class respectability. Except, by artful degrees, we are initiated into his warped secret life. The narrative alternates between the POVs of Felicia and Mr Hilditch.
To my mind with every truly great the book the ending is inevitable when it arrives. With this book there's a point where there are several possible endings - any of which might have been equally possible. I think when this is the case, when a narrative doesn't possess a gathering unifying tidal force, it's often an indication that the author doesn't have full mastery over his material. And I think this is why the book's ending felt distinctly flat. Though from a psychological point of view Hilditch was admirably convincing and compelling Trevor never quite convinced me he knew the methods of Hilditch's madness which ultimately made of him more idea than plausible living reality.
One thing all my favourite writers who write in English have in common is I can recognise them in isolated sentences so distinctive is their prose style. This could never be the case with Trevor whose lyrical style is much more textbook than distinctive. That said, I've reached the age when I've read just about everything by my favourite authors and need new authors and he's without question an immensely engaging Serie B writer. -
My journey with Mr. William Trevor has led me on quite a winding road. High highs in The Children of Dynmouth and then disappointing lows delivered by The Story of Lucy Gault. With Felicia's Journey I hoped to return to the initial ecstasy I'd experienced, and instead found a truly mixed bag.
This novel, though a brief 212 pages, is not a quick read. Its style is dense, rather formal, and has a certain remove, similar to Lucy Gault. It took a while to get into the book, and a certain effort to stay there.
The main gist of the story: a young Irish girl still living at home becomes pregnant by a boy who goes to England without giving her a forwarding address. She has very limited information about his whereabouts but she bravely leaves her small village to find him. She doesn't have much luck, and then she runs into Mr. Hilditch, an enormous man who works as a catering manager, and who takes an unhealthy interest in "helping" poor Felicia.
Cue the best part of the book. Mr. Hilditch's character instantly brought to mind the villain in John Fowle's remarkable novel The Collector, though Hilditch is Trevor's own unique, twisted creation. This part of the book comes alive. Suddenly, I realize, hey, I'm reading a fine work of psychological suspense. I'm excited, thinking, oh this is the stuff, here we go.
And we DO go, and it's just as cinematic and utterly creepy and believable as I hoped it would be, and I don't want to put the book down. What will Mr. Hilditch do next, after he consumes a pork pie and a pineapple cake and a big jug of warmed condensed milk and two KitKat bars? I'm all in.
And then... the ending. That same type of unbelievable, I-had-to-make-it-literary bullshit ending reminiscent of what I experienced in Lucy Gault. A wholly unsatisfying aftertaste to something that had gathered so much momentum. I don't know what it is with Trevor. He has to make sure everyone is as miserable as possible by the end of his books. He goes out of his way, so far that I just don't buy it. I feel like he's slathering me in defeatism.
It's annoying, because he's so brilliant. I mean, he's such a great writer, despite my complaints. The economy of pages but the deep riches therein, is something I can only admire. I love the way he structures the telling of his stories - beautifully layered and highly crafted. And in this book in particular, the portrayal of the plight of a pregnant, unmarried woman from a Catholic family is brutal and accusing.
So, let's end on a positive note. I think I'll give Trevor a rest, just for the time being. The journey has been well worth the effort, but my feet are aching.
3.5 stars (rounded up for Mr. Hilditch) -
Her mourning is to wonder.
[2.5]
The storyline immediately catches the eye: a teenage Irish girl abandons her family, leaves her hometown, and crosses over to England to find the elusive lover who impregnated her during a brief encounter they had had at home. In England, without knowing the whereabouts of the man and all by herself, she falls prey to one Mr. Hilditch, a middle-aged predator with a dark past who maintains a respectable social profile. This, then, becomes the story of her loss and survival.
But we have heard all that before. Many times over. Knowing William Trevor’s reputation I prepared myself to be awed at the new way of doing the old topic, but unfortunately my desire to enjoy and appreciate this novel was not fulfilled. The writing is good at times, lyrical and evocative, brooding and haunting, but for the most part very ordinary and run-of-the-mill.
The character of Felicia is underdeveloped. She is naïve, innocent, trusting, yet sensible enough to smell danger when things begin to turn. Nothing more can be said of her. It's thinly drawn and two-dimensional, almost a stereotype of a small town young Irish female and feels more like she’s put in there to develop and advance the story of her predator Mr. Hilditch, who, however, is more carefully drawn and passably credible. He is a conniving, deceiving, manipulative man with a stable job but lives a lonely and loveless life. He has a history of preying on the emotionally and financially distressed vulnerable young women. When a new opportunity in the figure of Felicia comes to him, he’s all set to exploit it to the full. Felicia becomes his undoing but the train of events that unravels him does not seem quite plausible to me.
The narrative follows a linear stream with plentiful flashbacks to contextualise their lives and reveal the backstories of both characters. I felt that much of Hilditch’s backstory is withheld to be told much later in order to give it a feel of a thriller rather than a profound exploration of the novel’s themes and its characters’ mental states. These later revelations of important details skew the reading experience of the earlier two-third of the novel.
I have a number of other quibbles with the authorial choices. There is too much info dump of names and places, brands and businesses etc with no real bearing on what's being told, which hinders the smooth reading of the story. For instance, early on, fifteen characters (plus five extra names) are introduced in less than two pages. Only two or three of them are used again in a few inconsequential situations which could easily have been dispensed with. And of places, I do not want to know the names of so many businesses establishments on so many streets just to locate a setting where they dine or meet once or twice, and whose location is absolutely unnecessary anyway to what came before and what is to come after. This kind of detailed geographical mapping and name-naming has its uses but not in the story under question.
Another problem is the author’s slightly irritating narrational choice of beginning a new chapter in medias res. You read a couple of paragraphs full of pronouns to find out what it is that's being talked about. This isn’t a problem per se; it’s just that some writers do it better than others. I didn’t like the confusions of the first few lines, not knowing what I was reading about until a few paragraphs later.
All things considered, it is possible to appreciate this novel for the nature of its topic. It is essentially a sad story of a broken-hearted young girl who finds no redemption and is lost to the vagaries of fate. You would shed a tear or two at Fecilia's fate as you turn the last page. No wonder the book is so popular.
November '18 -
Deliberate, precise, and suffused with dread, this novel explores the lies we all tell ourselves and each other, and how much we're willing to do in the name of our shabby little fantasies.
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This is my final book from the Mookse Madness list, and is perhaps the most difficult of them to assess and review (there are 64 books on the list, but I had read 43 of them before it was announced). As always Trevor's prose is immaculate, and he shows great empathy for his characters while subjecting them to hideous torments.
Initially the story appears to be that of Felicia, an innocent 17-year old Irish girl who becomes pregnant by Johnny Lysaght, a slightly older man who works in England and has told her he works in a lawn-mower factory (though her father tells her he is in the British army). Felicia's attempts to contact him fail, and she steals some money from her family to enable her to travel to England to search for him, taking just a couple of plastic bags of belongings. Her searches soon prove fruitless.
Next we are introduced to Hilditch, a lonely middle-aged man who works as a catering manager for a factory. He initially appears to befriend and help Felicia, tells her he has a wife who is seriously ill in hospital and provides a few leads for her search for Johnny, but it soon becomes clear that he is not telling her all he knows. A lighter subplot concerns a crackpot religious sect who go round door to door pushing their message - one of these also befriends Felicia. The denouement starts when Felicia discovers that most of her money has disappeared. I can't describe how I feel about this without resorting to spoilers, so please do not read on if you intend to read this book soon! -
9.5/10
An interesting occurrence happened on the way to the fair: Alice Munro and Stephen King, neither watching where they were going, collided into each other, with paper notes flying high and wild. When all the pages had settled on the lawn and been re-gathered by their respective authors, each walked away with a bundled manuscript, not realizing that their pages had become enmeshed in each other's work. Result: William Trevor, story-teller extraordinaire!
Oh. My. What a wondrous web he weaves!
While channelling Munro's obsessive attention to domestic and mundane detail, and capturing King's ability to make your skin crawl on even a sunny Sunday morning, Trevor delivers a captivating portrait of the life of a diseased mind who spins his web to ensnare a lonely, lost and heart-sick young woman.
I was not prepared for how this novel unravelled: I imagined something more sedate, more conventional heartbreak than the kind that was to come. What made it more disconcerting was the way the trail crept up on the reader, much like the protagonist crept up on Felicia: the slow, insidious seduction-that-was-not-a-seduction.
Can't seem to get enough of William Trevor stories, after my first stumble with
Three Early Novels: The Old Boys / The Boarding-House / The Love Department. -
One of the few modern fictions that I liked despite having not a single character I could relate to. Two reasons: (1) the writing is unique. Trevor uses parallel narrations covering the lives of the two main characters and also a lot of flashbacks for both without confusing the reader. It is like presenting two lives, each covering both their current and past, in one concise and clear go and (2) both characters are multi-dimensional, although caricaturish at times, and standing directly at the opposite sides of a pole. The way he presents them is like a symphony: starting soft and simple, then smoothly and slowly builds up until it reaches the climax before mellowing down at the end. It is like presenting two characters in contrast, entertwining them in the middle, reaching together their highest peak before beautifully falling down separately and settling on a soft leaf floating on a pond. Lyrical yet arresting narration. Exact and up to the point plot development. Each word contributing to the story. Just like symphony where each instrument plays a part in creating good quality unforgettable music.
Don't get the wrong picture though. Although Trevor incorporates lots of music and food here, this novel is not your usual feel-good story. This is about a single loveless middle-age obese lunatic, Mr. Hilditch who fools the naive clueless young pregnant Felicia making her believe that he is helping her find her missing boyfriend. Felicia is an Irish girl who is left pregnant by an Irish man, Johnny who serves in the British army making him not a suitable husband according to Felicia's patriotic father. So, pregnant Felicia leaves Ireland to find Johnny in the UK only to fall prey to the lunatic Mr. Hilditch. Think Psycho male protagonist meeting a pregnant female boarder minus the knife and ax. Then that Psycho killer is given a lot of screen time showing his soft, less-evil normal side like cooking sumptous meals, listening to his favorite music, working hard in the restaurant that he manages, being liked by his subordinates and getting along wll with girls in his own fantasy "Memory Lane" world. Brilliant characterizations making these two characters among the fiction people I will remember for a long time.
The only two reasons why I am not giving this a perfect 5 are also two: (1) so many idiomatic expressions or words whose meanings I am not sure being not too familiar with British or Irish languages. Examples are bloody poofter, Corner of Brunswick Way every evening on the dot, teetotal, dress for a chap, different kettle of fish, family at arm's length, etc. and (2) had I not read yet the character of the killers in Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, I would have thought that the way Trevor developed the character of Mr. Hilditch here - elicing both hate and compassion from me - is exceptional. I still prefer Capote's style over Trevor's. Although they are similar and well-appreciated.
*Bow* William Trevor, well done! -
William Trevor ancora una volta si conferma narratore fine, attento, versatile nel cambio di registro lungo il corso della narrazione: il romanzo parte come uno spaccato sociologico, poi diventa un romanzo di formazione, per concludersi come un thriller dal finale non scontato. La trama è apparentemente semplice, ma… la fiducia e l’inganno, la moralità e il moralismo, l’apparenza e la verità, la delusione e la paura, la solitudine, la speranza, la rassegnazione, i rimorsi con cui bisogna imparare a convivere… questo romanzo esplora le bugie che diciamo a noi stessi e agli altri e smaschera ciò che siamo disposti a fare in nome delle nostre piccole, meschine fantasie.
Insieme a Patrick Modiano, William Trevor è stato per me la scoperta migliore di quest’anno.
Da “Il viaggio di Felicia” nel 1999 è stato tratto un film per la regia di Atom Egoyan.
https://youtu.be/z2yPGlwHk_I -
Felicia è tutto, tranne quello che il suo nome dovrebbe evocare.
Da quando entra in queste pagine la vediamo muoversi in una palude di tristezza: due sporte verdi, un piccolo gruzzolo rubato alla bisnonna centenaria e nient’altro.
Così Felicia una mattina sale sull’autobus e lascia il villaggio in cui è nata e cresciuta.
Lascia l’Irlanda e parte per l’odiata e temuta Inghilterra.
Seguendo vaghe informazioni è diretta nella zona di Birmingham in cerca di Johnny Lysaght, sedicente fidanzato. Incontrerà una varietà di persone tra cui il signor Hilditch, molto premuroso, forse un po’ troppo…
Le tinte fosche che colorano queste pagine hanno ulteriore ricchezza poiché Trevor costruisce una trama che ci parla di mali contemporanei e di quella solitudine ed abbandono che ogni giorno si trascina sui marciapiedi cittadini.
Speranze ed illusioni che s’infrangono.
Solitudine e il passato ingombrante da cui ci si deve difendere perché l’assalto dei ricordi può trasformarsi in un incubo ad occhi aperti…
Trevor vuole ricordarci quel famoso refrain de l’apparenza che inganna e, in effetti, se dietro ad una vita che si presenta linda e rispettata si cela una personalità con disturbi pericolosi, al suo rovescio può esserci una vita che esibita come avanzo della società (gli abiti lacerati, i denti guasti, l’odore del corpo che è solo fetore…) eppure lì dietro ci può essere il massimo della limpidezza.
Sono quelle esistenze che si ritirano dietro ad uno schermo di sporcizia e trasandatezza.
Sguardi vuoti che vagano di città in città scappando dai ricordi che inseguono come famelici segugi...
Dopo “Leggendo Turgenev”, Trevor continua a piacermi…
”Se torna a casa adesso, si sveglierà di nuovo in quella stanza. Un nuovo giorno sorgerà sulla stessa disperazione, il peso di doversi alzare quando il campanile suona le sei, l’inizio di una nuova giornata. Le scale strette saranno di nuovo pulite di martedì, le lenzuola della vecchietta verranno cambiate durante il fine settimana. Se torna ora, lo sguardo di suo padre sarà ancora accusatore, i suoi fratelli minacceranno vendetta.” -
Dear William Trevor,
You are a lovely, lovely writer, but I don't think things are going to work out between us. This book is only just over 200 pages, but it took me a full week to read it. And I was on vacation! Initially I didn't really want to read it because I didn't want to see what horrible thing was going to happen to Felicia. Then I did want to see and you refused to tell me. Honestly, I got a bit bored. In addition, I find myself unable to relate to your characters. The reasons for the nonsensical actions they take feel a little thin to me (or in the case of Lucy Gault--a lot thin). I suspect that this has something to do with the Irish fatalism I've heard so much about, but don't really get. Oh, well. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday. I hear you write wonderful short stories.
Best wishes,
Gina
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William Trevor is considered by many to be one of the most important figures in contemporary Irish literature, and I came across opinions which named Felicia's Journey as one of his best novels. Since Trevor is an author who has authored many, this was the one I decided to read to begin my acquaintance with his work. It turned out to be a strange mix - I picked it up expecting a literary musing on the human condition, and got it; but I also read a book which is at its heart a thriller. A slow-paced, meandering one, but undoubtedly a thriller.
The novel begins with its protagonist, Felicia, boarding the ferry from Ireland. She is pregnant, and traveling to England with hope of finding Johnny Lysaght - the man who fathered her child. He left no address, except for a vague information about his job in a lawnmower factory somewhere in the English Midlands. Felicia's father, a staunch Republican, believes that Johnny chose to join the British army, which for an Irish man is nothing short of treason. Despite all this, Felicia choses to believe Johnny and sets out to find him - hoping that once she does, everything will be all right.
As you can probably guess, things do not turn out to be this simple. Felicia makes it to England with relative ease, but once she sets foot on the shore she steps out into another world: one very bleak, cold, and depressing, much more so than the small Irish town that she just left. Although the year in which the action of the novel is never clearly stated (or I have missed it), the grim portrait presented by Trevor suggests the early 1990's, just after Margaret Thatcher's era as Prime Minister came to an end. The Midlands (the action takes place mostly in the city of Birmingham) are depressed, overpopulated, dirty and hopeless. The novel is almost Dickensian in its sense of describing the place during the time - Overwhelming, endless grey skies, tall, bleak chimneys, alienation suffered by its poverty-stricken characters, with poverty suffered by its sick, diseased, homeless and otherwise deprived inhabitants contrasted with the everpresent copious amounts of waste and trash generated by the other part of society signalling the growing obsession with consumerism and excess of having too much and caring too little.
Felicia is young, inexperienced, and hopelessly naive; it is no wonder that she is quickly noticed by the other major character, Mr. Hilditch. At first, Hilditch seems to be kind and well-meaning: an overweight, mild-mannered gentle man, kind and helpful, someone in whom we all could trust. He works at one of the factories that Felicia visits, and is willing to help her find Johnny. However, it eventually becomes apparent that there's more to Hilditch that at first meets the eye: there's a very dark and disturbing undertone to his character. From the point that the two meet, their lives become interlinked - and the book becomes no longer just Felicia's journey alone; it is now Mr. Hilditch's journey, too. He is the slowly wound-up trap to Felicia's lonely, unsuspecting mouse. Little by little, he ensnares her and prepares to catch her in his grasp.
Where the book succeeds is Trevor's portrayal of Hilditch - a troubled man who does despicable things, but for whom we cannot help but feel pity, even sympathy at times. However, many authors have made their entire careers in writing cat-and-mouse novels about predatory characters, and the thriller element Felicia's Journey loses its impact in what is a oversaturated market. The lack of a thrilling plot might turn off potential readers - I too struggled with keeping my interest throughout the entire book, and found several parts of it largely implausible (not least of them being Felicia's conveniently incredible naivete). However, I did enjoy it and found the ending to the book satisfying - and I will read more Trevor in the future. -
"Ela não procura um sentido nos pensamentos que lhe ocorrem, tal como não o procura na sua viagem sem destino; também não vê qualquer padrão na desordem do tempo e dos homens, mas nem por isso deixa de pensar."
Nunca dei mais de 4 estrelas a uma história de William Trevor, mas ele tem um dom difícil de igualar: todas elas ficam comigo.
Este livro parece quase um thriller, onde desde a primeira página percebemos que Felicia não pode acabar bem, e o homem com quem ela se cruza, o Sr. Hilditch, é mais sinistro e arrepiante do que muitos psicopatas da literatura.
Não termina como pensei e, por isso, custou-me mais e fez-me engolir em seco. -
Wow, this was a slow burner. Trevor has an implacably deliberate sense of pacing and an instinct for telling detail that can make a barely 120-page novel seem bigger on the inside. We are slowly given a vivid picture of a naive young Irish girl who has run away to Britain to find the boyfriend who has made her pregnant and of Mr. Hildick, a middle-aged catering manager at a factory. Hildick befriends the girl, offers her help, but he is not what he seems - he has befriended young girls in trouble before. But his entanglement with Felicia seems to go further than any previous attachment.
Trevor gradually builds a gripping, horrifying portrayal of a wounded, monstrous beast and his intended victim. Nothing is spelled out in excessive detail - instead we are given a selection of little details that cumulatively let us build up the full picture, or a version of it.
Most intriguing of all is Felicia herself, who seems to somehow find release and a measure of the felicity her name evokes in a footloose, uncertain existence, but at least one whose broad outlines she has become familiar with. Marked for victimhood,she has managed to subtly turn the tables, but not without cost to herself.
Equally fascinating is the religious cult that weaves in and out of these pages and the woman who serves as their door-to-door tout. There are several other fascinating little side-lights pinpointed for a moment or two in brilliant illumination before fading back into the textures of this intricately patterned and quietly devastating novel. -
I just love William Trevor. Having read Lucy Gault, I thought this would be more of the same and I was happy with that. It's completely different though and because I hadn't read about it beforehand, totally unexpected. Mr Hilditch, who befriends lonely young girls in need of help, is a strange and fascinating character. As we learn more about him, the suspense and frustration builds and in between, we have Trevor's beautiful prose such as his full page description of the plight of the homeless.
"As maggots make their way into cracks in masonry, so the people of the streets have crept into one-night homes in graveyards and on building sites, in alleyways and courtyards, making walls of dustbins pulled close together, and roofs of whatever lies near by.....Hidden away, the people of the streets drift into sleep induced by alcohol or agitated by despair, into dreams that carry them back to the lives that once were theirs."
It made me wonder how far we have come since the days of the Jago. -
I read this novel on holiday, immediately after Patricia Highsmith’s Ripley’s Game. I had thought of the Highsmith as my murder/mystery romp and the Trevor as my ‘literary’ read. However, they have more in common than I thought. Trevor is also a bit of a murder mystery romp, the first time I’ve ever thought of him in that way. Both novels exercise psychological compulsion; both build intensity and then suddenly switch scene or character. They draw a lot of energy from what they don’t tell you—at least not until the very end.
William Trevor is the more chilling of the two because his characters feel real. My familiarity with this Irish writer is through his short stories, many of which are magnificent character studies. With Trevor, you can assume nothing: anything is possible, even though the world in which it happens will be impossibly ordinary.
He writes beautifully. His narrative style is careful and measured, on the traditional side– in a good way. He likes the present tense and he uses it unobtrusively to bring you uncomfortably close to the action.
We have two main characters in this novel: Mr Hilditch. the English catering manager and Felicia, the run-away (pregnant) Irish girl. Both are victims, though Hilditch is also a predator. Trevor’s description of them is meticulous. He lays down small details beautifully and nothing is accidental. Here is Hilditch:
“The private life of Mr Hilditch is on the one hand ordinary and expected, on the other secretive. To his colleagues at the factory he appears to be, in essence, as jovial and agreeable as his exterior intimates. His bulk suggests a man careless of his own longevity, his smiling presence indicates an extrovert philosophy But Mr Hilditch, in his lone moments, is often brought closer to other, darker, aspects of the depths that lie within him. When a smile no longer matters he can be a melancholy man.”
What a beautiful final sentence that is: ‘When a smile no longer matters . . .”. The best words in the best order—it is surely more than just prose.
The sinister side of Mr H is there from the start. Then there’s the innocent seventeen-year-old, ironically named Felicia, who runs away to find her boyfriend Johnny Lysaght. He left without a forwarding address and she is carrying his child. When Mr Hilditch gives her directions, he recognises her type immediately. She is lost and she is looking for someone, carrying her whole world in two carrier bags. He follows her. She is indeed alone. Names of other girls start to trickle through his mind. What happened to them? We don’t know, though we are already uneasy. The first seriously sinister reference is in chapter 7:
“The frisson of excitement that has been with him all day is charged with a greater surge now that he has spoken to the Irish girl again: never before has there been a girl as close to home as this one, a girl who actually approached him on the works premises. Elsie Covington cropped up in Uttoxeter, Beth in Wolverhampton, Gaye in Market Drayton. Sharon was Wigston: Jekki, Walsall. All of them, like the Irish girl, came from further afield and were heading elsewhere, anywhere in most cases. You make the rule about not soiling your own doorstep, not shopping locally, as the saying goes; you go to lengths to keep the rule in place, but this time the thing just happened. Fruit falling from a tree you haven’t even shaken; something meant, it feels like. And perhaps to do with being approached rather than the other way round, Mr Hilditch senses a promise: this time the relationship is destined to be special.”
Meanwhile, we empathise with Felicia’s thinking, as her circumstances get worse and worse. Hilditch, while pretending to be kind, steals her money so that she will be more vulnerable, but she doesn’t know this. She starts off in cheap bed and breakfast places but is soon sleeping rough. We know he is out to get her. We know it is only a matter of time before she will enter his house, desperate for any form of shelter. Her mental pain gets worse. Soon it is physical pain when he persuades her to have a late abortion at his expense.
He is a serial killer, isn’t he? That’s certainly what we assume. And the fascination is like watching a cat playing with a mouse. The cat has practised this many times. The mouse is doomed. But what kind of serial killer weeps like this:
“Tears flow from Mr Hilditch, becoming rivulets in the flesh of his cheeks and his chin, dripping on to his neck, dampening his shirt and his waistcoat. His sobbing becomes a moaning in the room, a sound as from an animal suffering beyond endurance, distraught and piteous.”
It is a very sad novel. He is, of course, a killer but not quite like you think. Nothing ends up quite like you think as the novel builds in momentum and sweeps you along with it.
It is powerful writing. If there is a weakness, it is that too much of the ‘explanation’ for Hilditch’s motivation is left to the final chapters. In fact, perhaps there is simply too much explanation, period. I am reminded of some of Trevor’s short stories (‘Miss Efoss’ is one; ‘Miss Smith’ is another) where characters behave in bizarre and even cruel ways but the explanation is withheld. We know there are explanations: that is always clear because of the way at least one character is fully dissected. But sometimes the beauty of the thing is to leave the reader puzzling, trying to assemble the clues.
I’m tempted to think the novel form has made this short-story writer feel he has to tie up more of the ends—say more, suggest less—and as a result this narrative is not quite as fine as some of his short prose fiction, not as shockingly unusual. It is an excellent novel though. It will stay with me. -
A story of a pregnant Irish girl who helplessly roamed the English Midlands in search of her lover. Trevor juxtaposed Felicia's innocence with Hilditch's premeditated and strangely benign violence. A psychological thriller so subtle it takes you by surprise and leaves you in shock. Exquisitely written.
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Description: For three decades William Trevor has been "one of the best writers at work in our language" (Boston Globe). Now, in a stunning progression, Trevor weds his literary art to hypnotic psychological suspense in a page-turner that will magnetize fans of Hitchcock and of Ruth Rendell at her most laconically chilling.
That is the insciption on the inside cover. But the pages have never been opened. The dust cover shows that this book has been moved from pillar to post, yet unread. How sad.'Happy Birthday Darling
Love Seán x'
Dedication: For Jane
Opening: She keeps being sick.
St. Patrick's Day read, 2015.
'When a smile no longer matters he can be a melancholy man.' P.7
I thought, ah but a fifty pages in, that I should be listing the music as a playlist, but no, that would have been inappropriate given how I came to despise Mr Paul/Bill etc Hilditch.
3.5*Felicia's Journey
3* Love and Summer
3* The Collected Stories
WL After Rain
3* Cheating at Canasta
4* Death in Summer
3* A Bit On The Side
4* The Hill Batchelors
3* My House in Umbria
3* Reading Turgenev
3* The Ballroom of Romance and other stories
3* The Distant Past and other stories
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Now that I am done, I can't help but think that in this book, Trevor is so like Hitchcock in creating an aura of suspended suspense. There were many nuances and concepts that led one to the characters of Felicia and Mr. Hilditch. Their characterizations made them ever so real, yet ever so dreamlike. One felt sorry for the both of them, one so abused, the other so unprepared for life, so utterly stupid.
Neither one of then held any allure but the reader finds them alluring. Mr. Trevor created of chemistry of the unknown yet known and carried the reader on the discovery of what lurks inside a person can not be detected on the surface. The book kept one reading and wanting to know more, understand the how and why, and ultimately feel sorrow for the villain and something less than pity for the survivor. A truly interestingly, interwoven story of all that our early lives can make us into. -
Thought by many to be William Trevor’s greatest work in a lifetime of great works, Felicia’s Journey centers around eighteen-year-old Felicia (of course), an Irish girl adrift in the English Midlands searching for Johnny Lysaght, the young man who abandoned her in a rural Irish village, leaving her not only heartbroken but pregnant. Although Felicia’s very patriotic father believes Johnny’s run off to join the British Army (and Irish boys, he tells Felicia, should remain in Ireland), Felicia chooses instead to believe Johnny, despite the fact that he’s never sent her a contact address as he promised to do. Believing he’s working in a lawnmower factory in the Midlands, Felicia packs her bags and sets out across the Irish Sea. She’s convinced that once she finds Johnny, he’ll make things right — for her and for their baby.
Finding Johnny, however, is proving to be a far tougher job than Felicia counted on and her cash, never much to start with, is rapidly running out. Enter Mr. Hilditch, the catering manager in one of the factories in which Felicia goes searching. Middle-aged, a little overweight, and terribly alone and lonely, Mr. Hilditch, who seem quite innocuous at first, eventually offers Felicia his help. Although Felicia trusts him (she says he “isn’t a man you can be alarmed about for long”), the reader soon realizes that being alone and pregnant is the least of Felicia’s worries.
In some ways, Mr. Hilditch seems the most mild-mannered of men. He takes great pains to make sure the food served to the workers is pleasing food, food that is more than just nourishment. As he tells a salesman who wants him to automate the company’s kitchen, “food should be served with caring hands, so that people feel loved.”
The preparation and serving of food is something Mr. Hilditch knows quite a bit about. His late mother, Gala, was, in her prime, a TV chef and local celebrity. Mr. Hilditch, who has a lovely home complete with large, gourmet kitchen, routinely watches Gala’s TV show videos as he prepares his own dinner, following his mother’s instructions to the letter as he stuffs turkey and trusses up lamb.
Trevor, who loves writing about those on the fringes of society, has created a masterpiece of characterization with Hilditch. Although it slowly becomes clear to the reader that he’s so much more than the helpful, genial catering manager he at first appears to be, Trevor has given us so much of his background, and has plumbed his depths so completely that we can only hate Hilditch’s crimes. We find it rather more difficult to hate Hilditch, himself. In fact, at times, I found Hilditch even more sympathetic than Felicia, herself, who is not only naïve, but rather stupid as well. This did not mean, of course, that I wanted any harm to come to her. I didn’t. But though I was rooting for her safety, I sometimes found myself thinking how foolish and risky her actions were and how blindly she trusted Johnny and romanticized their relationship.
While Felicia’s Journey is a thriller in the sense that we’re constantly on edge, worrying about the fate of this totally clueless but rather nice Irish girl, it’s also a first-rate psychological study of the effects of child abuse, something that Trevor writes about masterfully.
Trevor’s trademark irony is also evident in this novel as well. Hilditch, a master of the lie, manages to make Felicia ashamed for the few times she didn’t trust him completely. “No one else had been so concerned” about her well-being, she muses. And shockingly, shamefully, we come to realize it’s true. People in the Midlands have been anything but concerned.
Felicia’s Journey is a beautifully layered, beautifully written, very emotionally restrained novel, like all of Trevor’s work. Yet it is profound. Trevor works his by now familiar magic in making us not only understand, but feel sympathy for a madman. We understand how and why he does the things he does, and while we certainly don’t want him to do them, we know it’s not his fault that he does. Mr. Hilditch may, outwardly, be the very personification of evil, but we see, not only that evil, but also the pain that’s causing it. He’s an incredibly complex and complicated character, one of the finest Trevor’s ever created.
Like almost all of Trevor’s work, Felicia’s Journey explores the workings of fate and chance. Felicia’s life and Hilditch’s life would, of course, have been different had fate not thrown them together. But from their initial meeting, however, it seems clear that life meant for their paths to cross. Both have something to give to the other, and both have something to take from the other. Both leave their indelible imprint on the other’s life.
Also characteristic of Trevor’s work are the marginalized characters, in particular, Miss Calligary, a “Bible gatherer,” who, to a certain degree, both befriends and abandons Felicia, and annoys Mr. Hilditch. In some way, Miss Calligary and those like her are more tarnished than Hilditch. Hilditch at least has a reason for acting the way he does, a very good one. Miss Calligary apparently does not.
Trevor heightens the suspense in Felicia’s Journey by giving us information only on a “need to know” basis. For example, we don’t immediately learn that Felicia is pregnant, though astute readers might certainly suspect it, and it’s certainly not a plot spoiler to know this information before you read the book. And though it’s pretty clear from the get-go that Mr. Hilditch has an evil card or two up his sleeve, we really don’t know for sure until the book is well underway and we’re hooked.
Trevor’s prose is as it always is: spare, unadorned, understated, and devastating. This is a case where “less” really is “more.” Quite a bit more.
Felicia’s Journey is a book (and a film starring the brilliant Bob Hoskins as Mr. Hilditch) that’s impossible to forget. It gnaws at you. It begs you to read it “one more time” for the subtext alone, just to see what you’ve missed. Is it William Trevor’s very best work? In my opinion, it’s certainly among the top five, but for me, his masterpiece is still Two Lives, the book that contains the gorgeous Booker shortlisted Reading Turgenev and the very imaginative My House in Umbria. Choosing which of William Trevor’s works is his masterpiece, though, is like choosing which chocolate truffle is most delicious. All are so good, that singling one out is really an impossible task. -
Storytellers, starting from mythological times, have been fascinated by journeys. Most of our best loved tales are of heroes and heroines, journeying across a challenging landscape in the pursuit of a quest - whether the medium is verbal or visual. There is something fascinating about the trope of the journey, with a beginning, middle and an end - maybe because life itself is one.
William Trevor's heroine Felicia is on a quest of her own - to find her lover and the father of her unborn child, Johnny, in the modern-day wasteland of industrial England. She travels across the sea from Ireland, money stolen from great-grandmother in her handbag, without any clue where Johnny is other than he works in a factory which makes lawnmowers. Her relationship is frowned upon by her family of staunch Irish patriots, who consider Johnny a turncoat because there are rumours that he has joined the British army: and also by his mother, who is fiercely possessive of her son. However, this does not daunt our seventeen-year-old protagonist whom the heroic spirit has possessed.
Felicia does not find Johnny - but Mr. Hilditch, catering manager in a factory whose hobby is picking up vulnerable girls, finds her. While she struggles among the homeless in the gutters, he single-mindedly stalks his target. And by clever stratagems and a masterfully woven web of lies, the predator finally succeeds in luring the prey into his parlour.
Pretty predictable, right?
Wrong.
Because William Trevor refuses to follow the trodden path. After having set us up to expect a hackneyed denouement, the author slowly veers off the trail, building layer upon layer of nuances and constantly wrong-footing the reader. He achieves this mainly through the intricate characterisation of his villain, whose mind we inhabit half of the time; by taking us through the tortuous pathways of his demented mind, Trevor succeeds in making him almost sympathetic! Also, the plot twists, when they come, are so subtly inserted that we don't know what has hit us until we are halfway through them.
This is not a pleasant novel - but it is a compulsively readable one. The author's prose is evocative yet simple in the extreme. There is frequent switching between the present and past tenses to distinguish the current activities of the characters from their memories. Clear-cut and water-tight as this demarcation is in the beginning, it becomes more fluid and begins to meld with one another as the characters begin to lose their sense of reality, carrying the reader along with it - until she is brought down to earth with a thud.
Apparently this is the tale of the personal quest of a vulnerable girl. But going beyond the written pages, it's an indictment of our modern materialistic, "developed" society where the production of Felicias goes hand-in-hand with that of sophisticated machinery and specialty chemicals. The lives left to rot on the pavement and in the gutter is a necessary byproduct of the industrial world.Already, hours ago, the homeless of this town have found their night-time resting places - in doorways, and underground passages left open in error, in abandoned vehicles, in the derelict gardens of demolished houses. As maggots make their way into cracks in masonry, so the people of the streets have crept into one-night homes in graveyards and on building sites, in alleyways and courtyards, making walls of dustbins pulled close together, and roofs of whatever lies near by. Some have crawled up scaffolding to find a corner beneath the tarpaulin that protects an untiled expanse. Others have settled down in cardboard cartons that once contained dishwashers or refrigerators.
PS: I picked this book up at the roadside for a song. Lady luck smiles on me like that, sometimes.
Hidden away, the people of the streets drift into sleep induced by alcohol or agitated by despair, into dreams that carry them back to the lives that once were theirs. They lie with their begging notices still beside them, with enough left of a bottle to ease the waking moment, with pavement cigarette butts to hand. Homeless and hungry is their pasteboard plea, scrawled without thought, one copying another: only money matters. All ages lie out in the places that have been found, men and women, children. The family rejects have ceased to weep into their make-do pillows; those brought low by their foolishness or by untimely greed plead silently for sleep. A one-time clergyman no longer dwells on his disgrace, but dreams instead that it never happened. Rejected husbands, abandoned wives, victims of chance, have passed beyond bitterness, and devote their energies to keeping warm. The deranged are lulled by voices that often in the night persuade them to rise and walk on, which obediently they do, knowing they must. Men who have failed lie on their own and dream of a reality they dare not contemplate by day: great hotels and deferential waiters, the power they once possessed, the limbs of secretaries. Women who were beautiful in their day are beautiful again. There is no arrogance among the people of the streets, no insistent pride in their sleeping features, no lingering telltale of a past's corruption. They have passed the stage of desperation, and on their downward path some among the women have sold themselves: faces chapped, fingernails ingrained, they are beyond that now. Men, in threes and fours, have offered the three-card trick on these same streets. Beards unkempt, hair matted, skin darkened with filth, they would not now attract the wagers of their passing trade. In their dreams there is occasionally the fantasy that they may be cured, that they may be loved, that all voices and visions will cease, that tomorrow they will discover the strength to resist oblivion. Others remain homeless by choice and for their own particular reasons would not return to a more settled life. The streets, they feel, are where they now belong. -
4.5
My first Trevor book, I am going to read more from this author. I like the mystery stories that reveal the thought and nature of human minds; Felicia's Journey was like so.
A pregnant Irish girl traveled to England to find her lover. Felicia and Hilditch surprised me. The ending isn’t predictable. The only reason that I did not give five stars is the slow storyline, but I should mention that the foods, lifestyle, and town view are beautifully detailed described. -
Felicia is a young and naïve Irish woman. When she becomes pregnant, her father spurns her, and she travels to England to find the man responsible, feeling sure he will “do the right thing.” In England, during her search, she meets Mr. Hilditch, who is portrayed as enigmatic and ominously obsessive. The reader will soon realize he is a master manipulator. Felicia is trusting and easily misled. The narrative shifts between the perspectives of Felicia and Mr. Hilditch, providing insight into their inner worlds.
Themes include isolation, loss of innocence, and the lingering impact of trauma. Felicia is a stranger in a foreign land, grappling with language barriers and cultural differences. Mr. Hilditch is emotionally isolated due to his disturbing past and his inability to form genuine connections. Readers will quickly realize that he is taking advantage of Felicia’s trusting nature. The author builds suspense by inducing a dread that Felicia will fall victim to his machinations. It unfolds in the manner of a psychological thriller; however, I am pretty sure thriller lovers will be disappointed, as it is almost entirely character driven and there is little “action.”
The writing style is subtle. Trevor expects readers to infer much about the characters’ actions. Eventually, past experiences will be revealed, and the reader will understand more about the motivations of the two main characters. It is more of an exploration of the damage caused by trauma, and how it negatively impacts social interactions. I ended up with mixed feelings. I liked the character development and the writing style but found it a bit slow and repetitive. -
17 year old Felicia leaves her Irish home, crossing the Irish Sea to find her lover, Johnny, to tell him she is pregnant. Travelling to the Midlands town Johnny has spoken of, she goes in search of his place of employment, a lawnmower factory where he says he is a storeman. During her increasingly fruitless searches, she encounters Mr Hilditch, a corpulent catering manager at a local factory - a single man in his 40s, he is well thought of by his employers and friends but has a penchant for meeting and befriending homeless young girls and sees Felicia as his latest conquest....
William Trevor is fast becoming one of my favourite Irish writers, alongside the likes of Colm Toibin and John Boyne - the writing is superb but also in this story there is a really dark element throughout the story. As the author puts the reader inside Hilditch's head, we glean that he has an unhealthy interest in young women like Felicia, but to what end? The potential threat of Hilditch to Felicia is communicated to the reader by implication, and is even more concerning for the reader as she initially seems oblivious to it. An excellent read - very enjoyable - 9/10. -
С творбата си , автора буквално ме приземи без парашут. "Въздействащо образна" е точното определение. Но наистина , доста зловеща на места.
Признавам , не знаех за този писател. Оказа се, че перото му е майсторско. Уви, темите обаче, са тежки и едва ли ще проължа да го чета. -
This is a book that I bought years ago, tried to read, couldn't get into, and then picked up again just the other day. Did it suck me in this time? Kind of... I mean, I found myself thinking about Felicia while eating breakfast in the morning and then driving to work. Later, as I got to know Mr. Hilditch better, I became really concerned for Felicia. I couldn't put the book down--I had to know what was going to happen--but I didn't actually enjoy the book (if that makes sense).
Mr. Hilditch made me feel sooooooo weird. Like, at times I felt that I was doing something wrong by reading this book. He's one of the more complex, creepier characters I've encountered. The majority of the time, I hated him, but every now and again I found myself feeling sorry for him.
The bottom line is this: While William Trevor did not create characters I fell in love with, he did create characters who intrigued me. I don't know that I'll be in a big rush to read another of his books, but I am glad that I read this one. -
reading through my 1995 notebook, came across this:
Felicia's Journay - Trevor writes so well that the lines slip by easily, only later you realise what information is loaded in them. An old story: a pregnant, sheltered Irsih teenager comes to England to search for her boyfreind. All she knows is he works in a lawnmower factory. Gets caught up with down and outs, religious nutters and a sinister seemingly polite and solicitous chap. The book is filled with brand names, shopping arcades, heroin addicts. It's good, very good.
PS the film was set in Birmingham, fairly good but spoiled by Bob Hoskins's ridiculous Brummie accent.
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Fascinating book, but not as good as Trevor's short stories. I found the Canadian-made movie (1999)in some ways superior to the book, as Atom Egoyam (the director) added a fascinating subplot about the "murderer's"(but is he actually a murderer? this idea is left open in the book) childhood to explain facets of his behavior in the movie. On the other hand, the book has a better, more realistic and darker ending, as well as a generally-better (more in-depth, detailed delineation of character) treatment of characters, which (of course) can be further explored more so in a novel than in a 2-hour film.
Bravo Trevor!
