The Love Song Of Miss Queenie Hennessy (Wheeler Large Print Book Series), by Rachel Joyce
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The Love Song Of Miss Queenie Hennessy (Wheeler Large Print Book Series), by Rachel Joyce
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A New York Times Bestselling Author A runaway international bestseller, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry followed its unassuming hero as he traveled the length of England on foot ― a journey spurred by a simple letter from his old friend Queenie Hennessy, writing from a hospice to say goodbye. In this poignant parallel to Harold’s saga, Queenie sets pen to paper on a journey of her own; one word after another, she promises to confess long-buried truths.
The Love Song Of Miss Queenie Hennessy (Wheeler Large Print Book Series), by Rachel Joyce - Amazon Sales Rank: #1023996 in Books
- Brand: Wheeler Publishing Large Print
- Published on: 2015-03-04
- Format: Large Print
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 1.10" h x 5.70" w x 8.70" l, .0 pounds
- Binding: Hardcover
- 491 pages
The Love Song Of Miss Queenie Hennessy (Wheeler Large Print Book Series), by Rachel Joyce Review Nominated for the International Dublin Literary Award"A warm, thoughtful tale about love, regret and redemption. . . . this lovely book is full of joy. . . . an ode to messy, imperfect, glorious, unsung humanity. . . . Thank you, Rachel Joyce." —The Washington Post“Joyce’s follow-up is equally charming and sure to delight. . . . Joyce’s characters are so endearing, you can’t help but fall in love with them, and it’s impossible not to be moved as Queenie sorts through her life’s memories—her sorrows and pleasures—deciding what to tell Harold. Unpredictably, the hospice setting offers many sweet and laugh-out-loud moments . . . Queenie may be near the end, but her world is alive with faith and hope.” —Chatelaine“[The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy] is a moving tale of loneliness, loss and acceptance. . . . [with] an affectionate warmth and humour in the prose.” ―Reuters“Exquisite, funny and heartrending.” —The Telegraph (UK) “If you enjoyed Harold’s odyssey, you will adore this book. A page into this tender tale and it is clearly the perfect companion piece to the original story of Harold Fry. . . . Joyce gives us the woman who inspired Harold and his unlikely pilgrimage and, just like Harold, it is hard not to fall in love with her too.” —The Daily Express (UK) “If you loved The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, you’ll be thrilled with this sequel.” —Fabulous Magazine (UK) “A warm companion to its predecessor, probing the world of the dying and the relief that kind gestures can bring to otherwise solitary journeys.” —Financial Times (UK) “We’re treated to the hilarious black humour and lump-in-the-throat poignancy of day-to-day life amongst the motley cast of Queenie’s fellow doomed hospice patients. . . . It will be a hard-hearted reader who can finish it without tears.” —Daily Mail (UK) “Joyce has an evocative turn of phrase and like her other books this is a delightful read. . . . [She] has been praised for her ability to convey complicated meanings in simple terms. This gift is on display again here. . . . Queenie is an uplifting and moving companion to Harold.” —The Daily Express (UK) “[A] funny, emotional story.” —Marie Claire “An extraordinarily touching portrait both of what it’s like in a hospice . . . and of Queenie’s determination to explain herself before it’s too late. Her contemplation of the past also adds up to an almost defiant celebration of ordinary life as most of us live it.” —Reader’s Digest “Within the world of Harold Fry and Miss Queenie Hennessy . . . layer after layer of joint history is exposed gently, quietly, and gracefully. . . . I’ve often found myself wistfully wishing for another glimpse into Harold and Queenie’s world.” —Stylist “[A] haunting story. . . . Invest in a box of Kleenex before you start this tear-jerker.” —Woman and Home“[There are] some gently comic moments and pitch-perfect black humour that Joyce writes so well.” —The Independent (UK) “[The Love Song] is not without its own pleasurable uplift: a spiritual wind beneath its wings. Harold's pilgrimage creates an atmosphere of fun and joy. . . . It will certainly find a grateful readership.” —The Guardian (UK)“The poignant testament skips . . . from the increasingly tragic past to the unexpectedly light present. . . . The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy ends with a flourishing double twist that will leave you wide-eyed and wanting to go back and read it all again. And why not, because a second reading will bring out the subtler colours of this quietly wondrous book. Read it for Joyce’s stunning descriptions of England’s wild north east, its blossomy south and the paths, both literal and figurative, that link the two. But most of all relish its celebration of the kind of love that endures decades of silence and even death, and emerges burnished all the brighter.” —The Times (UK)“This quiet, gentle, moving novel . . . has a simplicity that sings. [Joyce] captures hope best of all: ‘You don’t have to keep being the thing you have become. It is never too late.’” —The Guardian (UK) “Joyce nicely calls the book a companion rather than a sequel. But The Love Song is bolder than a retread of the same material from another angle. . . . After two such involving novels, readers are bound to wish for a third.” —The Telegraph (UK)PRAISE FOR THE UNLIKELY PILGRIMAGE OF HAROLD FRY • "The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry is not just a book about lost love. It is about all the wonderful everyday things Harold discovers through the mere process of putting one foot in front of the other." --Janet Maslin, The New York Times • "Smart, subtle, funny." --The Globe and Mail • "Joyce's beguiling debut is another modest-seeming story of 'ordinary' English lives that enthralls and moves you as it unfolds." --PeopleFrom the Hardcover edition.
About the Author RACHEL JOYCE is the author of the international bestsellers The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry and Perfect. She is also the award-winning writer of more than twenty plays for BBC Radio 4. She started writing after a twenty-year acting career, in which she performed leading roles for the Royal Shakespeare Company and won multiple awards. Rachel Joyce lives with her family on a Gloucestershire farm.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. All you have to do is wait!Your letter arrived this morning. We were in the dayroom for morning activities. Everyone was asleep.Sister Lucy, who is the youngest nun volunteering in the hospice, asked if anyone would like to help with her new jigsaw. Nobody answered. “Scrabble?” she said.Nobody stirred.“How about Mousetrap?” said Sister Lucy. “That’s a lovely game.”I was in a chair by the window. Outside, the winter evergreens flapped and shivered. One lone seagull balanced in the sky.“Hangman?” said Sister Lucy. “Anyone?”A patient nodded, and Sister Lucy fetched paper. By the time she’d got sorted, pens and a glass of water and so on, he was dozing again.Life is different for me at the hospice. The colors, the smells, the way a day passes. But I close my eyes and I pretend that the heat of the radiator is the sun on my hands and the smell of lunch is salt in the air. I hear the patients cough, and it is only the wind in my garden by the sea. I can imagine all sorts of things, Harold, if I put my mind to it.Sister Catherine strode in with the morning delivery. “Post!” she sang. Full volume. “Look what I have here!”“Oh, oh, oh,” went everyone, sitting up.Sister Catherine passed several brown envelopes, forwarded, to a Scotsman known as Mr. Henderson. There was a card for the new young woman. (She arrived yesterday. I don’t know her name.) There is a big man they call the Pearly King, and he had another parcel though I have been here a week and I haven’t yet seen him open one. The blind lady, Barbara, received a note from her neighbor—Sister Catherine read it out—spring is coming, it said. The loud woman called Finty opened a letter informing her that if she scratched off the foil window, she would discover that she’d won an exciting prize.“And, Queenie, something for you.” Sister Catherine crossed the room, holding out an envelope. “Don’t look so frightened.”I knew your writing. One glance and my pulse was flapping. Great, I thought. I don’t hear from the man in twenty years, and then he sends a letter and gives me a heart attack.I stared at the postmark. Kingsbridge. Straight away I could picture the muddy blue of the estuary, the little boats moored to the quay. I heard the slapping of water against the plastic buoys and the clack of rigging against the masts. I didn’t dare open the envelope. I just kept looking and looking and remembering.Sister Lucy rushed to my aid. She tucked her childlike finger under the flap and wiggled it along the fold to tear the envelope open. “Shall I read it out for you, Queenie?” I tried to say no, but the no came out as a funny noise she mistook for a yes. She unfolded the page, and her face seeped with pink. Then she began to read. “It’s from someone called Harold Fry.”She went as slowly as she could, but there were a few words only. “I am very sorry. Best wishes. Oh, but there’s a P.S. too,” said Sister Lucy. “He says, Wait for me.” She gave an optimistic shrug. “Well, that’s nice. Wait for him? I suppose he’s going to make a visit.”Sister Lucy folded the letter carefully and tucked it back inside the envelope. Then she placed my post in my lap, as if that were the end of it. A warm tear slipped down the side of my nose. I hadn’t heard your name spoken for twenty years. I had held the words only inside my head.“Aw,” said Sister Lucy. “Don’t be upset, Queenie. It’s all right.” She pulled a tissue from the family-size box on the coffee table and carefully wiped the corner of my closed-up eye, my stretched mouth, even the thing that is on the side of my face. She held my hand, and all I could think of was my hand in yours, long ago, in a stationery cupboard.“Maybe Harold Fry will come tomorrow,” said Sister Lucy.At the coffee table, Finty still scratched away at the foil window on her letter. “Come on, you little bugger,” she grunted.“Did you say ‘Harold Fry’?” Sister Catherine jumped to her feet and clapped her hands as if she was trapping an insect. It was the loudest thing that had happened all morning, and everyone murmured “Oh, oh, oh” again. “How could I have forgotten? He rang yesterday. Yes. He rang from a phone box.” She spoke in small broken sentences, the way you do when you’re trying to make sense of something that essentially doesn’t. “The line was bad and he kept laughing. I couldn’t understand a word. Now I think about it, he was saying the same thing. About waiting. He said to tell you he was walking.” She slipped a yellow Post-it note from her pocket and quickly unfolded it.“Walking?” said Sister Lucy, suggesting this was not something she’d tried before.“I assumed he wanted directions from the bus station. I told him to turn left and keep going.”A few of the volunteers laughed, and I nodded as if they were right, they were right to laugh, because it was too much, you see, to show the consternation inside me. My body felt both weak and hot.Sister Catherine studied her yellow note. “He said to tell you that as long as he walks, you must wait. He also said he’s setting off from Kingsbridge.” She turned to the other nuns and volunteers. “Kingsbridge? Does anyone know where that is?”Sister Lucy said maybe she did but she was pretty sure she didn’t. Someone told us he’d had an old aunt who lived there once. And one of the volunteers said, “Oh, I know Kingsbridge. It’s in South Devon.”“South Devon?” Sister Catherine paled. “Do you think he meant he’s walking to Northumberland from all the way down there?” She was not laughing anymore, and neither was anyone else. They were only looking at me and looking at your letter and seeming rather anxious and lost. Sister Catherine folded her Post-it note and disappeared it into the side pocket of her robe.“Bull’s-eye!” shouted Finty. “I’ve won a luxury cruise! It’s a fourteen-night adventure, all expenses paid, on the Princess Emerald!”“You have not read the small print,” grumbled Mr. Henderson. And then, louder: “The woman has not read the small print.”I closed my eyes. A little later I felt the sisters hook their arms beneath me and lift my body into the wheelchair. It was like the way my father carried me when I was a girl and I had fallen asleep in front of the range. “Stille, stille,” my mother would say. I held tight on to your envelope, along with my notebook. I saw the dancing of crimson light beyond my eyelids as we moved from the dayroom to the corridor and then past the windows. I kept my eyes shut all the way, even as I was lowered onto the bed, even as the curtains were drawn with a whoosh against the pole, even as I heard the click of the door, afraid that if I opened my eyes the wash of tears would never stop.Harold Fry is coming, I thought. I have waited twenty years, and now he is coming.
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32 of 33 people found the following review helpful. I love Rachel Joyce's writing. By Luanne Ollivier I am often asked - who is your favourite author? Well, it's hard to narrow it down to just one. But, the books that stay with me long after the last page are the ones that move me, that make me laugh, make me cry and make me think. Stories about people. Rachel Joyce writes extraordinary stories. And yes, she is one of my favourite authors. You may recognize her name - The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry was a best seller and is a book I absolutely loved. (my review) For those of you who haven't read it (and you need to) it is the story of an ordinary man who receives a postcard from Queenie Hennessy, someone he hasn't heard from in twenty years. She is dying, but wants to say thank you for his friendship all those years ago. Harold gets it into his head that if he walks to see her (from one end of England to the other) she won't die. I remember thinking at the end of Harold's story, that I wanted to know more about Queenie's life. And I've got my wish. Rachel Joyce's new book is The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy. We get to see the other side of the story as Queenie waits in the hospice for Harold to arrive. Unable to speak, and with the help of one of the nuns, she decides to write another letter to Harold - "....tell him the truth, the whole truth. Tell him how it really was." Queenie's memories are full of joy and love, but also sadness and pain. I loved this ....."If only memory were a library with everything stored where it should be. If only you could walk to the desk and say to the assistant, I'd like to return the painful memories about David Fry or indeed his mother and take out some happier ones please." The past and those memories are unfurled and revealed in Queenie's remembering. The pace of her telling varies and I found myself matching my reading to the story. Slowly, to stop and savour the joy and description of her beautiful sea garden and more quickly as the painful memories are unearthed. The hospice is populated by a wonderfully eclectic group whose time is limited as well. Harold's journey and Queenie's waiting for Harold becomes part of their lives also. The nuns that work at the hospice are funny, kind and wise. Innocent Sister Lucy and Sister Mary Inconno were personal favourites. " You are here to live until you die. There is a significant difference." Joyce says she ..."set out to write a book about dying that was full of life. It seems to me that you can't really write about one without the other - just as you can't really write about happiness if you don't confront sadness. And she has. Rachel Joyce's writing make you feel - laugh, cry (oh yes have a tissue ready), empathize and sympathize, and might have you thinking about your own life, loves, hopes and dreams. There are so many memorable passages in this book - Joyce is such a gifted writer. "Sometimes, Harold, the way forward takes you by surprise. You try to force something in the familiar direction and discover that what it needs is to move in a different dimension. The way forward is not forward, but off to one side, in a place you have not noticed before." Just when I was resigned to the end of the book only being a few pages away, Joyce surprised me - with the most perfect, unexpected ending. If you loved Harold Fry's story (and I would recommend reading Harold's story first to fully appreciate this book), you'll love Queenie's too. This is one of my favourite books of 2014.
28 of 29 people found the following review helpful. Sensitive and compelling By Bookie I really enjoyed The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry and this 'companion' volume completes the story. Rachel Joyce's narrative is simple but powerful. The hospice setting is one filled with life and humour. Queenie is a compelling and interesting character and her back story makes for a thought provoking read. Although she's terminally ill and we know the ending, her life journey feels real and has purpose. There's a surprising twist in the final pages which I didn't see coming! There are some fascinating allusions to other works which add another dimension for the reader. In addition to the passing reference to J Alfred Prufrock in the title, I was further reminded of that elusive poem by a specific invitation in the narrative along with allusion to Sartre.Rachel Joyce has a rare talent. She spins a wonderful story, in simple language, but beneath that she explores a whole range of philosophical issues with honesty and compassion. Truth, trust, love, integrity, loss, responsibility, lives used, lives wasted...this is, without doubt, one of the best books I've read and one I'll recommend without hesitation.Thanks to the publisher for a review copy via Netgalley.
16 of 18 people found the following review helpful. Consider Reading Harold Fry First By darklittlelady Quick note: I did not read Harold Fry before reading Queenie.(3.5 stars)Queenie Hennessy has just moved into a hospice in Berwick-upon-Tweed when a farewell letter to her old friend Harold Fry makes him walk hundreds of miles to meet her one last time. Queenie starts to write another letter to tell him all the things left unsaid. She remembers the life she had and looks back on the beloved sea garden she built herself. In my opinion, Queenie’s description of the sea garden is the most powerful picture Rachel Joyce creates in the whole novel. The drawing in the back of the book doesn’t do it justice at all.While Queenie is reserved towards the other residents at the hospice at first, she opens up to them after a while. She is, however, a rather bland person who seems to have given up on life as soon as Harold wasn’t part of it anymore. The real stars of this novel are Queenie’s fellow residents at the hospice. I particularly like Finty and Mr Henderson who couldn’t be more different. Finty has such a great sense of humor and Mr Henderson’s development throughout the book is wonderful to witness. The most memorable scenes in Queenie without doubt include the hilarious moments spent with the residents of the hospice.The chapters I don’t like that much are the ones that comprise flashbacks to Queenie’s time spent working with Harold. They feel hollow, as if there is something missing. I suspect Rachel Joyce didn’t want to repeat herself by writing something she had already written in Harold Fry and so she just presented us with a very condensed version of the past events. I’m afraid that by doing this, she took the life out of Queenie’s encounters with Harold.While the middle of The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy was truly gripping, the novel ended just the way it started out: a bit weak. Those who have read Harold Fry will probably love the additional information Queenie gives them. For me, the book would have been wonderful with a closer focus on Queenie’s weeks at the hospice. That would have been enough to keep me glued to the pages without dreading chapters on Harold Fry.
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The Love Song Of Miss Queenie Hennessy (Wheeler Large Print Book Series), by Rachel Joyce
