The Sea of Light by Jenifer Levin
Untreed Reads, 2012
A lot of book blurbs show up in my
inbox. I'm on the e-mailing lists for my own publishers, plus all the
publishers from whom I've purchased books in the past. I skim most of
the notices I receive; rarely do I take any action. When Untreed
Reads sent me the blurb for Jennifer Levin's The Sea of Light,
however, something moved me to contact the publisher and request a
review copy, which they were kind enough to provide.
Only later did I learn that the novel,
originally published in 1993, is considered a classic of modern
lesbian fiction. It deserves the acclaim it has received. The Sea
of Light is the eloquent, painful and ultimately transcendent
story of three exceptional women – their ambitions, their secrets,
their weaknesses and their passions.
Babe Delgado has been groomed from
childhood to be a champion swimmer. As she reaches her peak in her
late teens, the Olympics beckon. Then a hurricane named Angelita
dashes her team's plane into the Atlantic, killing the men and women
closest to her. Two days adrift in the pitiless sea leave her
hovering on the edge of death herself, irrevocably scarred both
physically and psychologically.
Brenna Allen wanted to be a champion,
but her body betrayed those dreams. Now she coaches the swim team of
a small Massachusetts university, tough, driven, channeling the
near-vicious intensity of her own former coach. Mourning the loss of
her English-professor lover Kay to cancer, Brenna pours every ounce
of her emotional energy into transforming what she knows is
second-rate material into a winning team. She is perceptive,
intelligent and exercises fanatical self-discipline. As she
manipulates parents, colleagues and her own swimmers in the quest of
victory, she tries to ignore, deny or hide her own needs.
Ellie Marks, captain of Brenna's team,
knows she'll never be more than an average athlete, but that doesn't
stop her from dedicating herself to serving the coach she loves and
admires. The child of holocaust survivors, Ellie knows more than a
twenty year old should about suffering and loneliness. She
recognizes that her desire for Brenna will never be consummated, and
yearns for someone who will love and accept for who she is – a
woman who loves other women.
A year or more after Angelita, Brenna
manages to recruit the still-fragile and damaged Babe to join her
team. Under Brenna's careful tutelage, the former winner begins to
heal and her performance begins to approach her former capabilities.
It is more difficult, though, to rebuild her shattered spirit.
Gradually her friendship with Ellie helps Babe overcome her
survivor's guilt and her self-disgust. Ellie, however, needs more
than a friend.
Narrated mostly in the first person
present, by these three women as well as several ancillary
characters, The Sea of Light is
a terrifyingly intimate book. Babe, Brenna and Ellie each conceal far
more of themselves than they reveal to the outside world, but the reader gets a
glimpse into their souls, and that's not always a comfortable place
to be. For these women, honest communication presents a nearly
insurmountable challenge, even when they are in the company of people
they love. Every character – even the minor ones – experiences a
level of isolation so painful that I was tempted to put the book
aside for something less taxing. However, Ms. Levin's insight into
the subtleties of emotional experience kept me reading. And the
ultimate connections between the characters, imperfect though they
are, have a luminous joy that balances the pain.
I
would not label The Sea of Light
as erotica, but sex and sexuality are recurring themes. The author
vividly describes the experience of being queer in a straight world.
Brenna, in particular, fears being “outed”, but even Ellie, more
accepting of her own sexual orientation, feels confused and
alienated. In one of my favorite passages, Brenna describes her
experience visiting San Francisco with her lover and discovering an
environment where lesbians and gay men are so common that they're
completely unremarkable.
I
kicked around the city feeling lazy, sated, drowsy, like a well-fed
animal. It was there – near that hilly nexus of streets in the
Castro, as I wandered in and out of shops smiling at people, at women
and at men who were all naturally, casually, unquestionably gay –
where I felt there was this dark cold thread inside me that might be
broken, that could be changed to something resembling the nature of
light. If only I could stay there somehow, in that city – with Kay,
with my very own love – and wake up every morning to know how
intrinsically, undeniably mine the city was, how at the core of it
stood this still-unfulfilled offering of ecstasy and freedom, a
self-contained world where straight people mattered not at all. I
could feel the bright sure power of that. Beyond the power, very
close, lurked dignity; and beyond that, I knew, there was peace.
The
sexual encounters in The Sea of Light
are as intricate and nuanced as the rest of the book. As Babe and
Ellie discover one another, Brenna is drawn back into the orbit of
her old friend Chick, the woman who introduced her to Kay. This is
Chick's voice in the next passage, describing their inevitable but
emotionally tangled physical encounter.
Some
things we remember in detail; others, in metaphor. Maybe that's why,
later, it will come back to me as a blur: the long, long time that
the kiss went on, became not a kiss anymore but an exploration of
skin; the beginning of how we touched hair, lips, cheeks, breasts and
thighs through cloth; the moment she started to take off my clothes,
there on the floor in front of cold pizza and a snorting dog, and I
let her do all the work – sensing somehow that seizing the physical
initiative was what she needed. There had been something vaguely
frightening and unfamiliar about my saying where and when. Her power
to control and to please linked inextricably to her passion; and if I
wanted her passion, and mine, I would have to give up a measure of my
own control – not something I ever did lightly. But I realized,
through a cloud of anxiety and desire, that control was a
much-overrated thing I could do without. And, anyway, we must all
give it up in the end.
These
two passages I've just quoted will give you a feel for the flavor of
Ms. Levin's prose – complex, expressive, ideas tumbling over one
another, moods and thoughts flitting by instant to instant – all
this internal churning, separate from the outside world. Indeed, this
is a very internal book. Aside from the disaster of Angelita that
sets the tale on its tracks, not a lot happens. The movement is all
inside the characters.
Because
of this, I feel that the book would actually have been stronger if
Ms. Levin had restricted the narration to the three protagonists
(although I would be sorry to forgo Chick's eloquent and perceptive
voice above). In order to move the story forward, the author provides
short chapters from the perspectives of Babe's father, Babe's mother,
Babe's brother, even an elderly Afro-Cuban bruja
who is Babe's real world aunt and true spiritual parent. These other
people are important only because of the light they shine on the main
characters. Allowing them the space and time to speak diluted the
focus of the novel to some extent.
Overall, though, I thoroughly enjoyed
The Sea of Light. I would not
call it entertaining – enlightening, moving, or satisfying would be
more appropriate descriptions. On the other hand, I find deep
pleasure in prose that is beautiful and true - like the writing in
this fine novel.
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