Our Father Who Art in a Tree by Judy Pascoe
Ten-year-old Simone’s father has died, and she, along with her mother and three brothers, must deal with grief. The novel’s a beautiful mix of superstition and wish fulfillment: who’s to say what’s the right answer? The wonderful thing is that we aren’t asked to believe one way or another; we’re allowed to grieve along with the family. Pescoe, with her stand-up comedy skills, prevents the novel from spiraling into despair completely though.
I’m reminded of my own family, of course, and how after my grandmother died, the clock in my grandparents’ house stopped. Then one day, it started back up again, and my grandfather felt her with him. Since she died in late August, it’s a particularly good (or particularly bad) time to reflect on the nature of grief.
Pescoe was born in Australia. I can’t remember ever reading a book set in Australia, which is really disturbing considering how much I’ve read.
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