A different kind of book, this Cloudstreet. Its one of those books where one can identify with those who give it high praise as well as those who didn't care for it. I didn't find the storyline particularly compelling nor any of the characters. However, the book grew on me. I started trying to decide if I even wanted to continue reading it, decided I did, and ended up really liking the ending. I felt it to be a somewhat depressing book most of the way, until, surprisingly, the ending!What I liked:*The book is written in short sections from each of the characters viewpoints. They can be as short as a paragraph or as long as several pages. This method of portraying each character's thoughts reminded me of ... clouds. Just a wisp of a thought here, or dark, brooding stormy clouds in some cases - very appropriate for the book. *I loved the total Aussie-ness of the writing. Words like chiacked, chuffed, yairs, sozzled and bangcrack add that dash of Aussie flavor to the writing. *The growth of the characters. I think Winton does an exceptional job of creating believable characters. I loved watching Rose Pickles and Quick Lamb mature. I never would have dreamed that either would become the people they were at the end of the book, but Winton brings them along gradually and credibly.What I didn't care for:*I don't like the switching around of tenses. I never "got" why it was even necessary or if it was even consistent with certain characters.*I didn't understand the necessity of the Beryl character. Was she really even needed in the story?Here is a sample of writing that has no significance to the story and therefore is not a spoiler. I chose it so potential readers can see Winton's unique descriptiveness, creative use of language.The high ceiling reaches into a cobwebby dimness with weak streaks of light blunting themselves against one another from opposite sides of the church. It's almost grand, but a good compromise, he thinks, between pooftery High Church and shoebox Baptist.So, while impressed with Winton's creative writing ability, characterization, overall, I'm not blown away by the book, but am very glad I stuck with it and finished it. Its a good book for Around-the-World readers who want to be immersed in Aussie-ness, however, I foresee a lot of readers not sticking it out due to the length and the fact that it isn't exactly action-packed.3.5 stars
It's over 15 years since I read this and I may not read it again in a hurry, but I remember liking it despite Winton's name being mud in my house thanks to an envious writer-father who couldn't understand why he kept getting all the grants. Not even Mum would defend Winton in those days, though she'd come out swinging for Peter Carey, someone I've never been able to stomach. And the truth is until Cloudstreet Tim Winton was probably the sort of writer who, had he suddenly vanished into obscurity, could easily have been dismissed as an also-ran. But here's where he grows into himself, where he unbuttons the constricting Hemingway obsession (fairly common among Australian writers in the 80s) and lets it all hang out, and where, once and for all, he eclipses that cold-hearted big-headed ex-advertising man (Carey) and becomes a kind of institution. Sentimental? Decidedly so. Populist? Check. In thrall to a newfound obsession with Garcia Marquez (influence of choice for Australian writers in the 90s)? You bet. Add to this an idealised retro Aussie idiom that is roughly the equivalent of 'aw shucks' to an American and you've got a book that looks pretty hard to defend in synopsis. And to be honest I really can't remember what it is that saves it, except for the overriding physicality and lyrical descriptions of the sea that are Winton's trademarks, and except for the size of the man's heart. Since Cloudstreet Winton has become the type of writer who dives into big books without a life jacket and swims out to the deep water. In Dirt Music he nearly drowned - somewhere around the middle his pulse lessened to near-insignificance, and the ending was laughable, crazy. But even when embarrassing himself so shamelessly he still flew the flag for the type of writing that doesn't know where it's going before it gets there, and which follows the dictates of the heart. Me, I kind of tuned out around then, but I still remember Cloudstreet fondly, and recommend it to anyone interested in Australian fiction. It's not, and never was, 'state of the art', but it's gutsy and real and some kind of an event. It's pop culture, and it ain't going away. I hear The Turning is good too.
What do You think about Cloudstreet (2002)?
I thank heavens I didn't give up on this one, having started it a couple of years ago and let it drift onto some nominal pile of 'not sure why I've put this down' books. Last week it got its second chance when I took it to Berlin figuring it would either get read, or get left. In fact my nose was scarcely out of it. It's a stunning achievement, Australian through and through, but utterly universal in its themes: at the risk of this being a spoiler, it is about the journey to understanding there is not us and them, only us. The book's 25 years old - there is probably a generation of people who could learn something for our time by reading it.Rest here: https://alittleteaalittlechat.wordpre...
—notgettingenough
So many things worthy about this book. Style. Content. Characters. Pace. And everything else that makes spending your reading time discovering the Pickles and the Lambs both memorable and worthy. Way worthy. But the secret to that special quality seems to me not to lie in all that, but in the soul of the writer. Beautiful and free and bubbling with the finest aspects of life. Its a book to return to. For the sheer beauty of the writing. For its memorable characters, whom you love and care for. And for that house, breathing. And that pig, talking.Officially a favourite.
—Moses Kilolo
"Cloud Street" is an important novel and i cant do it justice in a short review. Im not going to bang on about its brilliant characterisation, fantastical landscapes and clever allegorical allusions. That's just the technical stuff. What counts for me is an impression that has stayed with me since i read it ten years ago, that it was a dream of my own imagining. There was a place in my mind waiting to be filled by this book. I felt I could slip quietly between the pages and share in the eccentricities, joys and tragedies of the Lamb and Fish families. Reading "Cloud Street' brought to mind Ruth Park's novel "Poor Man's Orange" and Johnson's "My Brother Jack", books of my mother's generation that she had introduced me to. I knew my mother would love it too but wasn't prepared for her strong (positive) reaction. She's now ploughed her way through most of Winton's books.
—Colleen Stone
