The protagonist of Slow Emergencies lives in a sleepy New England college town, choreographing dances in her attic studio. She shares a comfortable house and a cozy life with her philosophy professor husband and two small daughters. But none of this quite satisfies Lin, who is consumed by her work. So when an irresistible offer comes--a dance company in Mexico City wants her to be its director--she leaves husband and children behind and becomes a traveling artist. Alas, just as her old life was haunted by the specter of an unfulfilled career, her new life is haunted by the specter of her children: "In the Mexico City subway, and in the streets--everywhere but in the dance--Lin is vulnerable to attack by babies. The second she hears a baby crying, panic seizes her."

Nancy Huston's writing comes alive when she's describing Lin's home life. The children, especially, are delicately observed. But although the author wants us to feel her heroine's overpowering need to dance, her writing on the subject is vague and pretentious, never letting us into the details of Lin's artistic process. In rehearsal, she and her partner are "welded together by the throbbing air." The dances themselves sound pretty awful: "It is about stone and sculpture, about failure leading to rage, then madness and finally to imprisonment." The kids, on the other hand, sound pretty terrific (one daughter insists that her mother is "as beautiful as Italy"). At such moments, it's difficult not to wonder whether Lin has put her eggs in the wrong basket. Still, in these postfeminist times, it's a daring choice to write with tenderness about a woman who abandons her babies for her art. --Claire Dederer


From Publishers Weekly
Canadian-born Huston relocated permanently to Paris at age 20, married literary and cultural critic Tzvetan Todorov, raised two children and has published many nonfiction books and seven novels (Steerforth issued The Mark of the Angel here with fanfare last year) in her adopted as well as her native tongue. Her latest domestic release, already acclaimed in France as La Virevolte, chronicles the experiences of a woman torn between continents and between the competing passions of motherhood and artistry. In an unnamed New England town, dancer Lin Lhomond marries college professor Derek and bears two children, Angela and Marina. Though Lin adores her babies, she longs for the space and time her art requires. When she is offered the directorship of a dance company in Mexico, she sees an escape, divorcing Derek and leaving the girls in order to pursue her passion. Huston documents both Lin's rise as a renowned choreographer, in Mexico, Paris and London, and Derek, Angela and Marina's stunned attempts to make a life without her. Though he is still in love with his former wife, and the girls cannot forget their mother, Derek finally marries fellow professor Rachel, an old friend of Lin's. In spare, cinematic prose, leaping from character to character and across two decades, Huston follows the girls' progress as they grow up to become troubled adults. Lin, meanwhile, still racked with guilt over abandoning her children, faces a career-threatening injury. Huston's loose, often unpunctuated narrative reads fluidly, but her lyrical language, called upon to carry the tale, cannot quite bear its weight; the novel's associative monologues may have worked better in the original French. As it is, Huston produces a sensitive, sweeping account of the difficulty of reconciling maternal and artistic callings, a topic that begs for a more sustained and focused treatment. A long, enthusiastic blurb from Jeffrey Lent may draw attention to this title. (Jan. 6) Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc.


From Booklist
Lin equates the pain and joy of birth and motherhood with dance, but in the end dance consumes her. She leaves her young daughters, Angela and Marina, with her husband, Derek, a college professor in a New England town. Lin also leaves her childhood friend, Rachel, with whom she had shared adolescent angst and the desire for a painfully artistic life. Lin seemingly had betrayed that longing by marrying, having children, and living a normal life. But she ultimately rejects her husband's and children's neediness to pursue the career of an international ballet star. Rachel meanwhile steps into Lin's life by marrying Derek, though she never quite relinquishes her passionate relationship with a tortured, scowling poet; and Lin's daughters suffer their own struggles with abandonment. Huston's spare prose is eloquent and poetic as she describes a woman's choice of career over marriage and motherhood and masterfully portrays the convergence of the artistry of dance, parenting, and human relationships. Vanessa Bush
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved


Review
?Spare, elegant ?. I can think of no other novel that so honestly and deeply explores the experience of the artist.? ? Jeffrey Lent, author of In the Fall

?A sensitive, sweeping account of the difficulty of reconciling maternal and artistic callings??Publishers Weekly

?A haunting story about an uncommon subject??Library Journal

?One wakes from this novel as from a spell of urgent, slow-motion dreams. . . . Slow Emergencies is full of the elements of enchantment.? ? The Washington Post

?Told simply and without pretense. . . . Huston deserves bravos for her portrayal of how motherhood devours the mother.?? Book


Book Description
Slow Emergencies opens with an unforgettable scene of childbirth, evokes a loving connection between a woman and man and their children, and describes an irresistible impulse to create a distance from and ultimately to abandon one's family. This powerful, seemingly negative, energy is nevertheless always a movement toward life. Lin's decision to leave her husband and daughters is rendered with compassion and understanding. The story of how her forsaken family builds a new life without her is remarkably moving.


Language Notes
Text: English (translation)
Original Language: French

FROM THE PUBLISHER

Nancy Huston, award-winning author of The Mark of the Angel, meditates on the conflict between life and art for a talented young dancer in her poetic new novel.

Lin Lhomond has a husband, two daughters, and close friends. But dance is both her profession and her passion. Inescapably, dance imposes itself upon her, until the inevitable moment when Lin feels she must choose between her family life in a New England town and the all-consuming world of dance to which she aches to return. Huston writes brilliantly about the passage of time, the delights and horrors of motherhood, the body’s vulnerability, and the solitude of creative endeavor. What results is a deeply felt novel that offers a disquieting but profoundly moving meditation on just what it means to be an artist.

FROM THE CRITICS

Book Magazine

This deceptively straightforward tale of a motherless woman who abandons her husband and two daughters to pursue a career in dance is told simply and without pretense. Talented Lin Lhomond faces an eternal dilemma: Is it wise to abandon family for art? Is creative freedom worth the sacrifice and pain it causes loved ones? Unfortunately, the book never answers the questions. Instead, it dances between childlike wish fulfillment and angst. With fluid ease, Lin becomes a world-famous artist. Her husband marries her best friend, but they both continue loving her. Her children adjust—sort of: One obsesses about the Holocaust; the other becomes an unwed mother. And when Lin winds up lame and cannot dance, thanks to a botched operation, the reader is left wondering if she made the right decision, and how losing her mother may have influenced her path. Huston deserves bravos for her portrayal of how motherhood devours the mother, yet the novel often lacks adequate exploration and needs further probing. Despite its strong beginning, it emerges as a sketch for a deeper dance, lacking a brilliant finale. —Ethel Hammer

Publishers Weekly

Canadian-born Huston relocated permanently to Paris at age 20, married literary and cultural critic Tzvetan Todorov, raised two children and has published many nonfiction books and seven novels (Steerforth issued The Mark of the Angel here with fanfare last year) in her adopted as well as her native tongue. Her latest domestic release, already acclaimed in France as La Virevolte, chronicles the experiences of a woman torn between continents and between the competing passions of motherhood and artistry. In an unnamed New England town, dancer Lin Lhomond marries college professor Derek and bears two children, Angela and Marina. Though Lin adores her babies, she longs for the space and time her art requires. When she is offered the directorship of a dance company in Mexico, she sees an escape, divorcing Derek and leaving the girls in order to pursue her passion. Huston documents both Lin's rise as a renowned choreographer, in Mexico, Paris and London, and Derek, Angela and Marina's stunned attempts to make a life without her. Though he is still in love with his former wife, and the girls cannot forget their mother, Derek finally marries fellow professor Rachel, an old friend of Lin's. In spare, cinematic prose, leaping from character to character and across two decades, Huston follows the girls' progress as they grow up to become troubled adults. Lin, meanwhile, still racked with guilt over abandoning her children, faces a career-threatening injury. Huston's loose, often unpunctuated narrative reads fluidly, but her lyrical language, called upon to carry the tale, cannot quite bear its weight; the novel's associative monologues may have worked better in the original French. As it is, Huston produces a sensitive, sweeping account of the difficulty of reconciling maternal and artistic callings, a topic that begs for a more sustained and focused treatment. A long, enthusiastic blurb from Jeffrey Lent may draw attention to this title. (Jan. 6) Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.

Library Journal