The Problem With Murmur Lee - Hardcover

Fowler, Connie May

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0385499817 ISBN 13: 9780385499811

Publisher: Doubleday, 2005

Synopsis

The bestselling author of Before Women Had Wings spins a wild new tale about the strong bonds among a group of friends that loses its quirkiest member, Murmur Lee. Exploring new literary territory while keeping to her native Floridian roots, Fowler is here at her most original and entertaining.

As a new year dawns over the island of Iris Haven, Murmur Lee Harp and her lover, Billy, go for a romantic sail without a care in the world. The evening comes to an abrupt halt when Murmur Lee discovers that she has drowned—but by whose hand?—in the Iris Haven river.

Grief-stricken and haunted by the mysteries surrounding her death, Murmur Lee’s circle of friends sets out to discover what really happened to her, and in the process they learn as much about her failings and triumphs as their own. After years of self-exile in the North, Charlee Mudd returns to set her best friend’s affairs in order, only to confront her own ghosts. Edith Piaf, a former marine whose sex change at the age of sixty-two Murmur Lee supported unquestioningly, must find the confidence to carry on without the encouragement of her friend. Lonely widower Dr. Zachary Klein plummets into the depths of depression at the loss of the second woman he has ever loved. As for Murmur Lee—who lived her entire life on an island named by her great-great grandfather in honor of the Greek goddess who receives the souls of dying women—in death she experiences her own journey as she is plunged into her familial past and discovers the truth about who she really is.

With poignancy and humor Fowler weaves the voices of Murmur and her friends into a compelling narrative. Part family saga, part murder mystery, The Problem with Murmur Lee is Fowler’s most rewarding and engrossing work yet.

About this title

About the Author

Connie May Fowler is an essayist, screenwriter, memoirist, and novelist. Her novels include Remembering Blue and Before Women Had Wings, which received the Southern Book Critics Circle Award and was made into an Emmy-winning Oprah Winfrey Presents movie for television. She founded the Connie May Fowler Women with Wings Foundation, a nonprofit organization dedicated to aiding women and children in need. She is the Irving Bacheller Professor of Creative Writing at Rollins College in Winter Park, Florida.

From the Inside Flap

<p>At thirty-two, Oster Harp is a wealthy man, a captain of industry who has settled on an unnamed island with his young pregnant wife and an entourage of servants to tend his property and ensure that nothing disturbs his peace and quiet. Pacing the beach on the morning his wife gives birth, he catches sight of a rainbow and, struck by the magic of the moment, names both the island and his newborn daughter for the Greek goddess of the rainbow. But Iris is also the goddess who receives the souls of dying women, and in choosing the name, Oster unwittingly leaves a legacy that haunts the island and the Harp family for generations to come. <br><br>Murmur Lee, Oster’s great-great-granddaughter, has spent her entire life on Iris Haven. She has married and divorced, raised two daughters, and seems totally content with her surroundings and with the latest beau in her long series of conquests. When, just shy of her fortieth birthday, Murmur drowns in the Iris Haven River, her eclectic circle of friends is profoundly shaken by the mysteries surrounding her death. After years of self-exile in the North, Charlie Mudd, Murmur’s best friend, returns to find out what really happened on that fateful night and is forced to confront the ghosts of her own past. Edith Piaf, a former marine whose sex-change at the age of sixty-two Murmur supported with an unquestioning generosity of spirit, vows to defend Murmur’s reputation against the snide rumors arising in town. And Murmur's egotistic lover, William, finds himself unable to let go of the woman who enchanted and intrigued him. <br><br>With poignancy and humor, and a loving respect for her characters, Fowler weaves the voices of Murmur and her friends into a compelling narrative. Part family saga, part murder mystery, THE PROBLEM WITH MURMUR LEE is Fowler’s most rewarding and engrossing work to date.</p>

Reviews

Adult/High School–At first glance, this novel appears to fuse elements from Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones (Little, Brown, 2002) and Rebecca Wells's Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (HarperCollins, 1996). As it opens, Murmur Lee, a free-spirited young woman who enjoys life with a circle of eccentric friends on a coastal island in Florida, is chronicling her death by drowning. Subsequent chapters are told through her eyes and those of various friends, including her best friend, who returns from Boston to settle her affairs; a 62-year-old ex-marine who has had a sex-change operation; a doctor who has yearned for Murmur since losing his wife to breast cancer; an angry, young, self-proclaimed Mennonite whose penchant for profanity does little to hide her vulnerability; and Murmur's novel-writing boyfriend from up north whom the rest of the group suspect of having had a hand in her death. In her afterlife, Murmur is given glimpses into the past that allow her to understand her relationships with her zealously religious mother, distant father, and ex-husband. Despite a central theme that involves the ways that Murmur Lee and her friends try to come to terms with her death, the book is not morbid; rather, Fowler's sharp wit and insight enable her to touch on the intertwined topics of life, death, faith, friendship, and love with grace and aplomb. Students will appreciate the extent to which the author takes her characters on separate and rocky journeys, and the power of leaving their ultimate destinations purposefully vague. Highly readable and thought-provoking.–Kim Dare, Fairfax County Public Library System, VA
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

This elegiac novel, chronicling the life and death of idiosyncratic Murmur Lee Harp, showcases Fowler's easy, loose-limbed prose and sympathetic eye for human fallibility. Murmur Lee, 35, owns a popular local rundown bar in a North Florida backwater called Iris Haven and is skilled in the use of potions and spells. After her only child dies and her husband runs away, she finally finds the man she thinks may be the love of her life, then mysteriously drowns in a local river. Fowler (Before Women Had Wings) beautifully crafts the story of this woman's life through the eyes of her motley bunch of friends and through the spirit of Murmur Lee as she looks back at her past life. After Murmur Lee's death, Charleston Rowena Mudd, Murmur's childhood friend and a "Self Loathing Southerner," finds herself back home in Iris Haven, having dropped out of Harvard Divinity School. Also in town is Billy Speare, Murmur's last love, a writer who believes he's on the verge of bestsellerdom; Lucinda Smith, an angry, chain-smoking yoga teacher; Dr. Zachary Klein, who's mourning his wife, dead of breast cancer; and former marine turned transsexual Edith Piaf, mesmerized by the singer of the same name. Somehow, Fowler makes the disparate viewpoints and characters work, and the singular life of Murmur Lee Harp engagingly unfolds, as does the mystery behind her early death.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

In a departure from her usual straightforward narrative, Fowler reveals the life of Murmur Lee Harp backward from her death by drowning on New Year's Day in the waters of the Iris Haven River. Multiple voices tell her story, slowly unfolding how Murmur (failed saint, white witch, divorcee, and lapsed Catholic) lived and why she died in waters as familiar as those in her own bathtub. Letters, a last will and testament, a shopping list, and reminiscences show Murmur Lee transcending parental rejection and personal tragedy to become the focal point of her small community on Iris Haven, a barrier island off the coast of Florida. As in Before Women Had Wings (1996) and Remembering Blue (2000), Fowler portrays small-town Florida life in all its gritty energy--with lyricism, humor, and an obvious love for the people and place. This skillful piece of writing, despite a few false notes in character portrayal and predictability in its ending, will please Fowler's fans and entertain devotees of Alice Siebold's The Lovely Bones (2002) and Alice Hoffman's novels. Ellen Loughran
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

A Letter from
Murmur Lee Harp
to Charleston Rowena Mudd


July 21, 2001


Dear Charlee,

Here is the swan feather I promised. Be forewarned: This really works. An old celibate man in Jacksonville Beach clued me in. He blames the feather for his incessant faithfulness. By his own admission, he cheated on his wife with all the consistency of a serial killer until his wife threw the feather spell on him. He spent the first decade of his marriage as a philanderer and the last two as a model husband. In fact, he buried her three years ago and remains true. It's sad, really, that this works so well. I mean, the old guy is never going to get laid again in his life.

Anyway, you have to sew the feather into his pillowcase. You can't simply stick it in there. Do you know how to sew anymore? You've been up there so long, I suspect you've forgotten everything our mothers tried to teach us. I can see how that is both helpful and not. For instance, your mother, who was truly a dear woman—you know I loved her—was always insisting that you wear your hair short. That was wrongheaded. You're a knockout when you let those curls kiss your shoulders.

Also, when do I get to meet this Nigerian? Like I said in this morning's E-mail, you CANNOT marry until I have approved. I would give you the same courtesy. Bring him down here and let me meet him while the summer storms still rage. Don't let this get past you. I know you. Once school kicks in, you'll be too busy to even respond to E-mail. So book your flights and I'll pick you up, and you two can have the house all to yourselves.

We're having a bang-up summer, Charlee. Last evening, Dr. Z was still running around Hastings in his Roadmaster (I don't believe he has cleaned it out, only added to the pile of crap, since you left here however many years ago), treating the migrants, and I took the liberty, as is my wont and his pleasure, to sit on his dock and sip my beer and watch the end-of-day glory unfold and settle. I was glad I did, because last night's sunset turned out to be a rare breed of awesome. The magnolia leaves quivered in the waning light. The river glowed. The sky bloomed. The anvil clouds towering in the west over the hammock appeared to be lit from within. It was enough to make my heart break and put itself back together out of sheer joy: lilac, purple, orange, sage. This old world, I'm telling you, pulsed with the sun's last gasp—ba bap, ba bap, ba bap—and then both sea and sky took on a golden glaze.

Just when I was thinking life couldn't get any better, it did. A flock of terns rose from the river, spiraling up up up, a ribbon of black and white unfurling along a thermal. And then they disappeared. It was as if God had called them home.

What do you think of that? I'd really like to know. Also, if any of your professors would like to comment, I welcome their thoughts.

If the description of the sunset doesn't do it, then perhaps this will entice you home: The dragonflies are in peak form. And you know what they say . . . a bountiful season of dragonflies makes for a healthy uterus. Picture you and your beloved sitting on Z's dock—or my porch—quiet and beautiful and still—watching the dragons fly. Take right now, for instance. I'm on my back patio, writing this letter and am surrounded. They collide into one another—winged bumper cars—as they gorge on the mosquitoes, and with each collision, a faintly metallic whir strikes the air. I bet ants and cockroaches consider it to be a form of music, something akin to calypso.

So what do you think of my news about this guy I met? I mean, I'm a bit wary, yet ever so willing to throw every shred of caution to the wind.

My tendency toward behaving with abandon is fueled by my very real and reasonable desire for sex. I mean, it has been three months. I've done all sorts of spell casting. I even burned my pubes in a bird's nest. That should have brought me major boom-boom action. But no! I'm still walking about like a nun!

So for no other reason than carnal desire, I'm tempted to go forward with this. He's cute as hell. My pubes have grown back in. As good old Father Beaver used to say, "Perhaps this would make Jesus happy." I'll keep you posted. Love on the river should be very hot. I guess I ought to buy a new razor or get waxed. Or something.

I miss you, Charlee. Z misses you. Edith misses you. Lucinda misses you. The whole damn bunch of us do. So come visit before you get involved in all your books and God again. Besides, you know as well as I do, God isn't up there. She left Boston ages ago.

Love you lots,
Murmur

P.S. I forgot to tell you, that poor swan! And poor me! The spell doesn't work if you pick up a feather off the ground. You have to pluck it out of the poor bird's butt. You'd better be sure you really want this guy.


Murmur Lee Harp


The pearl-faced moon dipped behind a cloud, darkening the night, as I sped upriver to meet my lover. We'd had many such river trysts. In fact, it was how we'd met five months prior: he on his way to check his crab traps and me anchored in the Matanzas, listening to Gillian Welch softly wail on my boom box. But tonight, it was the Iris Haven River, not the Matanzas, and it was New Year's Eve—a time that made me melancholy, because who among us could live up to the expectations born of fresh beginnings?

My skiff bounced along the swift chop, and as I brought her into the channel, I could see that Billy was already there. He owned a twenty-four-foot Wellcraft Fisherman, and if the tide had been low, he wouldn't have been in this river, as it ran shallow. But the New Year and broad, waning moon had given us a high tide, which made the river doable. I eased back on the throttle, my skin and hair wet with salt spray, not believing that I'd been with Billy for nearly half a year. As I churned doggedly on, closing the gap between us, I reminded myself that I deserved this happiness. My life was like most people's: a series of challenges made bearable by the sanctified gifts of friends and strangers. I wasn't going to sabatoge things this time. I was going to love a man and allow him to love me back and simply accept that life could be this way. And if, on occasion, I needed to slip a pinch of cayenne into his coffee to keep him focused, or sweeten his table salt with a dusting of snipped egret feathers to make him want me more, well, I was up for that. Upon my approach, I heard John Lee Hooker on Billy's boom box: "One bourbon, one scotch, and one beer." What a fine way to bring in the New Year: with the blues.

I anchored off his leeward bow, and as I watched the line uncoil and disappear into the river, I yelled, "Hello!"

Billy poked his head out of the cabin, all smiles, his eyes polished by liquor. "Hey there." He stepped onto the deck and raised his Budweiser in greeting. Dressed in well-saddled jeans, a red cable-knit sweater, and a University of Florida baseball cap, he looked younger than his forty-five years. "What took you so long?" He shot me that gap-toothed Scots-Irish grin.

"I ran over to the hammock. Wanted to see if I could spot the owl we heard last night."

He didn't say anything. He just stared. I fiddled with my hair and felt myself blush. His gaze was direct and all about sex. Even though I was halfway through my third decade on this planet, I wobbled under the weight of his hazel eyes. I brought my slicker tighter about me. "Permission to come aboard, sir."

He held open his arms: a welcoming gesture. "Permission granted."

As he took my line in his big hands and pulled my skiff toward him, I felt light and happy, almost home.


It was cold on the river, even though we were buffered from the easterly breeze by the dunes. Billy insisted I remove my slicker, because he "couldn't get to me through all that waterproofing." He wrapped me in an old gray sweater of his. It fit Billy snugly, but on me, it resembled a coat.

Overhead, clouds moved quickly and the moon's light wavered. We stayed on deck, both of us wanting to bring in the New Year in the wide, cold goodness of this river. Billy kissed the tip of my nose. Mr. Hooker howled, "Think twice before you go . . ."

"Happy New Year, baby." I touched Billy's face.

He rested his hands in my damp hair. "We're getting socked in," he said.

I followed his gaze. Fog billowed westward from the sea. Soon both the river and shore would be enveloped. "I love fog. Especially the way it tumbles in without warning." I wrapped my arms around him and spun a half turn—the perfect curl of a knot—resting the back of my head against his chest. "Fog is all about surprise, whereas rain is about, I don't know, enduring the moment."

He spun me back around—undoing the knot—leaned in, kissed me. He tasted like drawn butter and beer. "That makes no sense, you crazy woman, you."

"Yes, it does." I extricated myself and reached for my beer. I took a long swig and considered if I should try to convince him that rain is all about endurance, but he was on to something else.

"Listen to this." He popped out John Lee Hooker and fiddled with a plastic bag filled with CDs.

"No, Billy. Not again. I don't like this game. Listen, I'm better on music than you. Get used to it. It's a"--I breathed in the wet air, searched for a suitable word--"gift."

He wasn't deterred. He hit the play button and looked at me smugly. He thought he had me stumped—it was written all over his wide face.

"Easy. Prokofiev. Romeo and Juliet."

"Damn it!" He crushed his empty Budweiser with one hand, tossed it in a plastic bucket, opened the cooler, reached for another. "How do you know?"

"I saw the ballet on PBS." Actually, anyone with hal...

Edition details

• Publisher: Doubleday
• Publication date: 2005
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0385499817
• ISBN 13: 9780385499811
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 224