"On the morning the last Lisbon daughter took her turn at suicide—it was Mary this time, and sleeping pills, like Therese—the two paramedics arrived at the house knowing exactly where the knife drawer was, and the gas oven, and the beam in the basement from which it was possible to tie a rope…" (p.2).
In a quiet suburb in the late 1970’s on a street known for its picaresque tranquility sits the Lisbon house, home to Mr. & Mrs. Lisbon and their 5 daughters: Therese (17), Mary (16), Bonnie (15), Lux (14), and Cecilia (13). Little is gathered as to
how such perfectly blonde and vivacious young girls were had by Mr. Lisbon, a high school math teacher, and his rigidly pious wife--neither of whom resemble their offspring. The mystery stays all the more shrouded amid the ultra-sheltered lives endured by the Lisbon daughters; all of whom, despite an obvious flare for life, remain virtually non-existent outside school. It's not until the youngest, Cecelia, nearly dies from cutting her wrists that intrigue really builds as seemingly every neighbor on the street becomes caught up in the Lisbon drama. All eyes monitor the young girl’s return home from the hospital only to witness her second--successful--attempt a month later, this time impaled on an iron-tipped fence after jumping from a second story window.
The sudden death of their younger sister incites a change in the Lisbon girls who, amidst of their parents' detached sorrow, transfuse their own grief into a desperate yearning for 'life' outside their heavily-guarded bedroom walls. Lux especially becomes more "open" to frequent advancements, maintaining several clandestine affairs in spite of her diminished freedom. 'Living' carries a price though as, after returning past curfew from the homecoming dance, the girls are deposed to ultimate exile, now parentally restricted from all contact with the outside world. Understanding little but curious to the point of obsession, neighbor boys (themselves narrating events 20 years later) keep a close watch on the Lisbon house. A few of the braver ones eventually establish contact through alternative means (morse code w/ lamp lights, records played over the phone, anonymous postcards, etc.); all eager for connection until the very end.
In a quiet suburb in the late 1970’s on a street known for its picaresque tranquility sits the Lisbon house, home to Mr. & Mrs. Lisbon and their 5 daughters: Therese (17), Mary (16), Bonnie (15), Lux (14), and Cecilia (13). Little is gathered as to
how such perfectly blonde and vivacious young girls were had by Mr. Lisbon, a high school math teacher, and his rigidly pious wife--neither of whom resemble their offspring. The mystery stays all the more shrouded amid the ultra-sheltered lives endured by the Lisbon daughters; all of whom, despite an obvious flare for life, remain virtually non-existent outside school. It's not until the youngest, Cecelia, nearly dies from cutting her wrists that intrigue really builds as seemingly every neighbor on the street becomes caught up in the Lisbon drama. All eyes monitor the young girl’s return home from the hospital only to witness her second--successful--attempt a month later, this time impaled on an iron-tipped fence after jumping from a second story window.The sudden death of their younger sister incites a change in the Lisbon girls who, amidst of their parents' detached sorrow, transfuse their own grief into a desperate yearning for 'life' outside their heavily-guarded bedroom walls. Lux especially becomes more "open" to frequent advancements, maintaining several clandestine affairs in spite of her diminished freedom. 'Living' carries a price though as, after returning past curfew from the homecoming dance, the girls are deposed to ultimate exile, now parentally restricted from all contact with the outside world. Understanding little but curious to the point of obsession, neighbor boys (themselves narrating events 20 years later) keep a close watch on the Lisbon house. A few of the braver ones eventually establish contact through alternative means (morse code w/ lamp lights, records played over the phone, anonymous postcards, etc.); all eager for connection until the very end.
Even for a book on suicide the language is awfully high-flown, detailing the bits and pieces with enough 'airy' erudition for a dozen or so requiems. Still, the author's incandescence is hard to ignore, illuminated in the story's twisted appeal with words like "effluvium" and "crenellations". Even the book's serious-ness bends more toward the poetic, concentrated on deconstructing the flowery Lisbon mystique rather than conjecturing about the 'why' element. The wordy effervescence, its nostalgic conscious and re-"collective" (first person plural) narration all contribute to 'Virgin Suicides' achieving its aim as a book rendering a moment in time forever embedded into the consciences of those confronted by it. Readers drawn to suburban voyeurism or books involving the idiosyncracies of domesticity (think The Ice Storm by Rick Moody, Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, Election by Tom Perrotta, etc.) will like this.
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