I stayed up late last night reading Cut and Run by Ridley Pearson, the same author who collaborated with Dave Barry to write Peter and the Starcatchers, a prequel to Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie. I don’t recommend Cut and Run; it’s an absorbing thriller about a heroine in the witness protection program running from a Mafia family hit man. However, it’s predictably bloody, and the descriptions of violent perversion are unnecessary and unpalatable. Why do modern-day writers feel that they must describe everything in such nasty, graphic detail?

The other book I finished yesterday erred, if it did err, in the other direction. Testimonies was Patrick O’Brian’s first novel, published in 1952. O’Brian is the author of the series of Aubrey-Maturin seafaring novels. Testimonies takes places on land, in Wales, and although the plot turns on a particular instance of sexual perversion committted by a man against his wife, the description is suitably vague. The wife testifies in such a way as to confuse the most careful reader, and the novel’s ending and the purpose and setting of the testimonies that make up the bulk of the novel are all rather confusing, too. The story begins:

“Mr. Pugh, I came to ask you some questions about your life in Cwm Bugail and about Mrs. Vaughan of Gelli, Bronwen Vaughan. But now I think it would be better if you were to let me have a written account.”

It’s not ever clear to me who is doing the questioning nor what the purpose of the written testimony is. Later on Bronwen tells her part of the story:

“Bronwen folded her hands and prepared to answer the questions. Her heart was beating high, quick strokes, but her hands lay calm and folded.”

Again I never did figure out who was doing the asking nor why whoever it was felt a need to ask for testimony. Nevertheless, when it comes to telling how the characters felt about one another and how their relationships changed and fell into tragedy, the author describes these aspects of the story in exquisite detail. The story tells of each nuance of emotion, decision, and indecision using subtle and beautiful language. Unfortunately, subtlety was the novel’s strength and its weakness. The ending eluded my understanding, and I don’t think an explanation from another reader would be very satisfying. Maybe I’ll be satisfied to wonder what really happened. If you can live with ambiguity, you may enjoy this rather mysterious tragedy.