Encuentra tu próximo/a libro favorito/a

Conviértase en miembro hoy y lea gratis durante 30 días
Bird in Hand: A Novel

Bird in Hand: A Novel

Leer la vista previa

Bird in Hand: A Novel

3.5/5 (45 valoraciones)
310 página
4 horas
Nov 24, 2009


From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Orphan Train and The Exiles comes a novel about the choices we make, how they shape our lives, and how they can change them forever.

Four people, two marriages, one lifelong friendship: Everything is about to change.

It was dark. It was raining.  It was just an accident.  On the drive home from a rare evening out, Alison collides with another car running a stop sign, and—just like that—her life turns upside down. 

When she calls her husband, Charlie, from the police station, his accusatory tone reveals cracks in their relationship she’d never noticed were there. Now she notices everything. And she begins to realize that the life she carefully constructed for herself is as tenuous as a house of cards. 

The only thing Charlie can focus on these days is his secret, sudden affair with Claire, Alison’s best friend. Bold where Alison is reserved, vibrant where Alison is cautious, Claire has just had her first novel published, a thinly veiled retelling of her childhood in North Carolina. But even in the whirlwind of publication, Claire can’t stop wondering if she should leave her husband, Ben, an ambitious architect who is brilliant, kind, and meticulous. And who wants nothing more than a baby, or two—exactly the kind of life that Charlie and Alison seem to have.

As they set out on their individual journeys, Alison, Charlie, Claire, and Ben explore the idea—each in his or her own way—that every moment of loss contains within it the possibility of a new life. Alternating through these four intertwined perspectives, Bird in Hand is an exquisitely written, powerful, and thrilling novel about love, friendship and betrayal, and about the secrets we tell ourselves and each other.

Nov 24, 2009

Sobre el autor

Christina Baker Kline is the author of six novels, including the #1 New York Times bestseller Orphan Train as well as A Piece of the World. She lives outside New York City and spends as much time as possible on the coast of Maine. Learn more about Christina at www.christinabakerkline.com.

Relacionado con Bird in Hand

Libros relacionados
Artículos relacionados

Categorías relacionadas

Vista previa del libro

Bird in Hand - Christina Baker Kline



For Alison, these things will always be connected: the moment that cleaved her life into two sections and the dawning realization that even before the accident her life was not what it seemed. In the instant it took the accident to happen, and in the slow-motion moments afterward, she still believed that there was order in the universe—that she’d be able to put things right. But with one random error, built on dozens of tiny mistakes of judgment, she stepped into a different story that seemed, for a long time, to have nothing to do with her. She watched, as if behind one-way glass, as the only life she recognized slipped from her grasp.

This is what happened: she killed a child. It was not her own child. He—he was not her own child, her own boy, her own three-year-old son. She was on her way home from a party where she’d had a few drinks. She pulled out into an intersection, the other car went through a stop sign, and she didn’t move out of the way. It was as simple as that, and as complicated.

Something happens to you in the moments after a car crash. Your brain needs time to catch up; you don’t want to believe what your senses are telling you. Your heart is beating so loudly that it seems to be its own living being, separate from you. Everything feels too close.

As she saw the car coming toward her she sat rigid against the seat. Shutting her eyes, she heard the splintering glass and felt the wrenching slam of metal into metal. Then there was silence. She smelled gasoline and opened her eyes. The other car was crumpled and steaming and quiet, and the windshield was shattered; Alison couldn’t see inside. The driver’s door opened, and a man stumbled out. My boy—my boy, he’s hurt, he shouted in a panicky voice.

I have a phone. I’ll call 911, Alison said.

Oh, God hurry, he said.

She punched the numbers with unsteady fingers. She was shaking all over; even her teeth were chattering.

There’s been an accident, she told the operator. Send help. A boy is hurt.

The operator asked where Alison was, and she didn’t know what to say. She’d taken a wrong turn awhile back, gone north instead of west, and found herself on an unfamiliar road. She knew she was lost right away; it wasn’t like she didn’t know, but there had been nowhere to turn, so she’d kept going. The road led to other, smaller roads, badly lit and hard to see in the foggy darkness, and then she came upon a four-way stop. Alison had pulled out into the intersection before she’d realized that the other car was driving straight through without stopping—the car was to her right and had the right of way, but it hadn’t been there a moment ago when she had moved forward. It had seemed, quite literally, to have come out of nowhere.

Alison knew better than to explain all this to the operator, but in truth she had no idea where she was. Craning her neck to look out the windshield, she saw a street sign—Saw Hill Road—and reported this.

Hold on, the operator said. Okay, you’re in Sherman. I’ll send an ambulance right away.

Please tell them to hurry, Alison said.

She called her husband from the hospital and told him about the accident, about the car being totaled and her injured wrist, but she didn’t tell him that all around her doctors and nurses were barking orders and the swinging doors were banging open and shut, and a small boy was at the center of it, a small boy with a broken skull and a blood-spattered T-shirt. But Charlie knew soon enough. She had to call him back to tell him not to come to the hospital; she was now at the police station, and there was silence for a moment and then he said, Oh—God, and whatever numbness she’d had was stripped away. She flinched—told him, Don’t come—and he said, What did you do?

It wasn’t the response she’d expected—not that she had thought ahead enough to expect anything in particular; she didn’t know what to expect; she didn’t have a response in mind. But her sudden realization that Charlie was not with her, not reflexively on her side, was so profoundly shocking that she braced for what was next.

Do we need a lawyer? he said when it was clear she wasn’t going to answer, and she said, I don’t know—maybe. Probably.

Don’t say anything, he said then. She could tell he was flipping through scenarios in his mind, trying to lay things out in a methodical way. Just wait until I get there.

But I already said everything. A boy is—a little boy is—they don’t know yet—hurt. She said this, although they’d already told her there was swelling on the brain. The police weren’t wearing uniforms, and they didn’t handcuff her or read Alison her rights or any of the other things she might have expected. The boy’s parents were weeping; the mother was wailing I let him sit on my lap; he was cold in the back and afraid of the dark, and the father was slumped with his hands over his face. The walls of the lobby vibrated with their sadness.

Jesus Christ. Charlie breathed. And she thought of other times he’d been exasperated with her—on their honeymoon, when, after two days of learning to ski, she suddenly froze up and couldn’t do it; she was terrified of the speed, the recklessness, of feeling out of control; she was sure she would break a limb. So she spent the rest of the time in the lodge, a calculatedly cozy place with a gas flame in the fireplace and glossy ski magazines on the oak veneer coffee tables, while Charlie got his money’s worth from the honeymoon. She tried to think of an experience comparable to what was happening now, some time when she had done X and he had reacted Y, but she couldn’t come up with a thing. Eight years. Two children. A life she didn’t plan for but had grown to love. Friends and a hometown and a house, not too big but not tiny, either, with creaky stairs and water-damaged ceilings but lots of potential.

Potential was something she once had a lot of, too. Every paper she wrote in college could have been better; every B+ could have been an A. She could have pushed ahead in her career instead of stopping when it became easier to do so. She hadn’t known she wanted to stop, but Charlie said, C’mon, Alison, the kids want you at home. It’s a home when you’re home. But after she quit he complained about bearing the heavy load of responsibility for them. There was no safety net, he said; he said it made him anxious. He wanted her at home, but he missed the money and the security, and she knew he missed seeing her out in the world, though he didn’t say it. He saw her at home in faded jeans and an old cotton sweater, he saw her at seven o’clock when the kids were clamoring for him and strung out and cranky and he had just endured his hour-long commute from the city.

And yet—and yet she thought she was lucky, thought they were lucky, loved and appreciated their life.

But tonight she was living a nightmare. Her friends—some of them, at least—would probably try to comfort her, provide some kind of solace, but it would be hard for them, because deep down they would think that she was to blame. And it wasn’t that they couldn’t imagine being in her position, because every mother has imagined what it would feel like to be responsible for taking the life of someone else’s child.

But worse, every mother has thought about what it would be like to have her child’s life taken from her.

Alison could hear Charlie asking for her, out at the front desk. Polite and deferential and panicked and impatient—all of that. She could read his voice the way some people read birdcalls. She almost didn’t want him to find her. As she looked around at the dingy lights, the dirt-sodden carpet, heard the clatter from the holding cells down the hall, she wondered what it would be like to stay here—not here, perhaps, but in prison somewhere, cut off from other people, penitent as a nun. Or in a convent, a place with stone walls, small slices of sky visible through narrow slits, neatly made narrow beds. A place where she could pay for this quietly, away from anyone who had ever known her.

You might expect that she’d have thought of her children, and she did—peripherally, like a blinkered horse looking sideways; when she tried to think of them straight on, her mind went blank. Her own boy’s brown curls on the pillow, her six-year-old daughter’s twisted nightgown, her covers on the floor … Alison saw them sleeping, imagined them dead—just for an instant. Imagined explaining—and stopped. The only thing she seemed able to do was concentrate on the minute details of each moment: the cold floor, hard seat, dispassionate officers tapping on keyboards and shuffling papers. The tick of the wall clock: 11:53.

part one

At a four-way stop every vehicle must come to a complete halt before proceeding one at a time across the intersection, regardless of whether there is any other traffic in sight or not.

If two or more vehicles draw up to one of these junctions and stop, waiting to proceed across it, then they should proceed in the same order in which they arrived. If two vehicles arrive at one of these junctions at precisely the same time, so that it is impossible to tell which arrived first, then in theory the vehicle on the right has priority. However, many drivers are unaware of this rule and there are complications due to all the possible permutations of turns.


Driving in the USA and Canada


Chapter One

It had been a rainy morning, and all through the afternoon the sky remained opaque, bleached and unreadable. Alison wasn’t sure until the last minute whether she would even go to Claire’s book party in the city. The kids were whiny and bored, and she was feeling guilty that her latest freelance assignment, Sparking the Flame of Your Child’s Creativity, which involved extra interviews and rewrites, had made her distracted and short-tempered with them. She’d asked the babysitter to stay late twice that week already, and had shut herself away in her tiny study—mudroom, really—trying to finish the piece. Dolores, would you mind distracting him, please? she’d called with a shrill edge of panic when three-year-old Noah pounded his small fists on the door.

Maybe we shouldn’t go, she said when Charlie called from work to find out when she was leaving. The kids are needy. I’m tired.

But you’ve been looking forward to this, he said.

I don’t know, she said. Dolores seems out of sorts. I can hear her out there snapping at the kids.

Look, he said. I’ll come home. I have a lot of work to do tonight anyway. I’ll take over for Dolores, and then you won’t have to worry.

But I want you there, she said obstinately. I don’t want to go alone. I probably won’t even know anybody.

You know Claire, Charlie said. Isn’t that what matters? It’ll be good to show your support.

It’s not like she’s gone out of her way to get in touch with me.

She did send you an invitation.

Well, her publicist.

So Claire put your name on the list. Come on, Alison—I’m not going to debate this with you. Clearly you want to go, or you wouldn’t be agonizing over it.

He was right. She didn’t answer. Sometime back in the fall, Claire’s feelings had gotten hurt—something about an article she’d submitted to the magazine Alison worked for that wasn’t right, that Alison’s boss had brusquely criticized and then rejected, leaving her to do the work of explaining. It was Alison’s first major assignment as a freelance editor, and she hadn’t wanted to screw it up. So she’d let her boss’s displeasure (which, after all, had eked out as annoyance at her, too: I do wonder, Alison, if you defined the assignment well enough in the first place … ) color her response. She’d hinted that Claire might be taking on too many things at once, and that the piece wasn’t up to the magazine’s usual standards. She was harsher than she should have been. And yet—the article was sloppy; it appeared to have been hastily written. There were typos and transition problems. Claire seemed to have misunderstood the assignment. Frankly, Alison was annoyed at her for turning in the piece as she did—she should have taken more time with it, been more particular. It pointed to something larger in their friendship, Alison thought, a kind of carelessness on Claire’s part, a taking for granted. It had been that way since they were young. Claire was the impetuous, brilliant one, and Alison was the compass that kept her on course.

Now Claire had finished her novel, a slim, thinly disguised roman à clef called Blue Martinis, about a girl’s coming-of-age in the South. Alison couldn’t bear to read it; the little she’d gleaned from the blurb by a bestselling writer on the postcard invitation Claire’s publicist had sent—Every woman who has ever been a girl will relate to this searingly honest, heartbreakingly funny novel about a girl’s sexual awakening in a repressive southern town—made her stomach twist into a knot. Claire’s story was, after all, Alison’s story, too; she hadn’t been asked or even consulted, but she had little doubt that her own past was now on view. And Claire hadn’t let her see the manuscript in advance; she’d told Alison that she didn’t want to feel inhibited by what people from Bluestone might think. Anyway, Claire insisted, it was a novel. Despite this disclaimer, from what Alison could gather, she was Jill, the main character’s introverted if strong-willed sidekick.

Ben will be there, won’t he? Charlie said.

Probably. Yes.

So hang out with him. You’ll be fine.

Alison nodded into the phone. Ben, Claire’s husband, was effortlessly sociable—wry and intimate and inclusive. Alison had a mental picture of him from countless cocktail parties, standing in the middle of a group with a drink in one hand, stooping his tall frame slightly to accommodate.

Tell them I’m sorry I can’t be there, Charlie said. And let Dolores know I’ll be home around seven. And remember—this is part of your job, to schmooze and make contacts. You’ll be glad you went.

Yeah, okay, she said, thinking, oh right, my job, mentally adding up how much she’d earned over the past year: two $50 checks for whimsical personal essays on smart-mommy Web sites, $500 for a parenting magazine service piece called 50 Ways for New Moms to Relieve Stress, a $1,000 kill fee for a big feature on sibling rivalry that the competition scooped just before Alison’s story went to press. The freelance editing assignment with Claire had never panned out.

The party’s on East End Avenue, right? he said. You should probably take the bridge. The tunnel might be backed up, with this rain. Drive slow; the roads’ll be wet.

They talked about logistics for a few minutes—how much to pay Dolores, what Charlie might find to eat in the fridge. As they were talking, Alison slipped out of her study, shutting the door quietly behind her. She could hear the kids in the living room with Dolores, and she made her way upstairs quietly, avoiding the creaky steps so they wouldn’t be alerted to her presence. In the master bedroom she riffled through the hangers on her side of the closet and pulled out one shirt and then another for inspection. She yanked off the jeans she’d been wearing for three days and tried on a pair of black wool pants she hadn’t worn in months, then stood back and inspected herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. The pants zipped easily enough, but the top button was tight. She put a hand over her tummy, unzipped the pants, and callipered a little fat roll with her fingers. She sighed.


Oh, nothing, she said. Listen, Dolores will feed the kids, you just have to give them a bath. And honey, try not to look at your BlackBerry until you get them in bed. They see so little of you as it is. She yanked down her pants and, back in the closet, found a more forgiving pair.

When Alison was finally dressed she felt awkward and unnatural, like a child pretending to be a grown-up, or a character in a play. In her mommy role she wore flat, comfortable shoes, small gold hoops, soft T-shirts, jeans or khakis. Now it felt as if she were wearing a costume: black high-heeled boots, a jangling bracelet, earrings that pulled on her lobes, bright (too bright?) lipstick she’d been pressed into buying at the Bobbi Brown counter by a salesgirl half her age. She went downstairs and greeted the children stiffly, motioning to Dolores to keep them away so she could maintain the illusion that she always dressed like this.

She went out to the garage, got into the car, remembered her cell phone, clattered back into the house, returned to the car, remembered her umbrella, made it back to the house in time to answer the ringing phone in the kitchen. It was her mother in North Carolina.

Hi, Mom, look, I’ll have to call you later. I’m running out the door.

You sound tense, her mother said. Where are you going?

To a party for Claire’s book.

In the city?

Yes. And I’m late.

I read her book, her mother said. Have you?

Not yet.

Well. You might want to.

I will, one of these days, Alison said, consciously ignoring her mother’s insinuating tone. Then the children were on her. Six-year-old Annie dissolved in tears, and Dolores had to peel Noah off Alison’s legs like starfish from a rock. Alison made it out to the car again, calling, I’ll be home soon! and madly blowing kisses, and realized when she turned on the engine that she didn’t have a bottle of water, which was annoying, because you never knew how long it would take to get into the city, but fuck it. There was no way she could go inside again. Halfway down the driveway she saw Annie and Noah in the front window, frantically waving at her and jumping up and down. Alison pressed the button to roll down her window and waved back. As she pulled the car into the street she could see Noah’s cheek mashed up against the glass, his hand outstretched, his small form resigned and motionless as he watched her drive away.

EAST END AVENUE was quiet and damp in the shadows of early evening. Several blocks over, traffic swished and rumbled, but here Alison was the only one on the street. After easily finding a parking spot—just in time for the changing of the guard from metered to free, a rare lucky break—she locked the car doors and pulled her coat tightly around her. It wasn’t raining now, but the air was chilly; bare trees creaked in the sharp wind like old bedsprings. The avenue, the buildings, even the cars parked along the street, were washed in dull tones. Early March—not yet spring, though not still winter. A purgatorial season, Alison thought, when the manufactured cheer of the holidays has worn off, and desolation feels palpable. Or maybe just to her. She wasn’t sure, and had so little confidence anymore, in ascribing opinions to other adults. She seemed to have lost the ability to gauge what they might be feeling and thinking. (Children were a different story; she had developed an uncanny ability to decipher their moods—even those of the ones that weren’t hers.) She wondered if such an ability, which she used to pride herself on, was a social skill you could lose without practice.

The doorman, dressed in a navy blue uniform and standing just inside the small vestibule leading to the lobby, inclined his head and said, Good evening, miss, as Alison approached. Miss—she liked that.

Apartment five-twelve? she asked, waving the invitation.

Holding the door open, he ushered her in. Elevator straight ahead.

Thank you. She nodded, thinking, Oh yes, it’s like this; it’s this easy, and walked through the gleaming, harlequin-tiled lobby, past marble columns and inset mirrors, glancing at her reflection as she passed. Her hair was windblown; she was wearing last year’s coat—or did she buy it two years ago? It hardly mattered—the cut was conservative, tasteful, unexceptional, made to last for years without drawing undue attention. Under the coat she wore the loose black pants and a heather gray ribbed turtleneck she’d bought at the Bendel’s end-of-season sale on a rare foray into the city a few weeks earlier. At home, in front of the mirror in the bedroom, she had toyed with a scarf, a Christmas gift from her mother in the luminous shades of a medieval stained-glass window, but ultimately decided against it: too … suburban. She’d tucked it back in the drawer.

When Alison had lived in the city and worked as a magazine editor, she’d observed the fashion editors for ideas about what to wear. She’d never been particularly creative herself, but their example wasn’t hard to emulate: a wardrobe of black basics, with several fresh pieces mixed in each season to keep it current. A short pleated plaid skirt, a plum-colored poncho, round-toed satin shoes. But now that she no longer knew which trends to follow, even these small flourishes were risky. And besides, the person she’d become had little use for them. When was the last time she’d worn a short pleated skirt or satin shoes? Now she dressed in clothes that didn’t gap or expose too much, that absorbed mess and fuss and a child’s handprints, that could as easily be worn at a playdate as at a meeting of the planning committee of the preschool fund-raiser. After they’d moved to the suburbs she’d added a little color to her wardrobe so she wouldn’t come off as too New York—unfriendly, severe—but she balked at the bright costumes some women wore, holiday-themed sweaters and socks, matching headbands. These women scared her as much as the trendiest New Yorkers did, at the opposite end of the spectrum—possibly more. She was less afraid of being judged by them than she was of becoming them. She didn’t know how that might happen, but she feared it could be as simple as prolonged exposure,

Has llegado al final de esta vista previa. ¡Regístrate para leer más!
Página 1 de 1


Lo que piensa la gente sobre Bird in Hand

45 valoraciones / 26 Reseñas
¿Qué te pareció?
Calificación: 0 de 5 estrellas

Reseñas de lectores

  • (3/5)
    There is a lot of insightful lines in this novel and it is a essay on marriage, expectations in it , obligation,and what love means long term. it goes back and forth in time the time being between two couples who are friends and when both marriages fail. Along with this is a car accident in which Alison inadvertently causes the death of a young boy. However, I struggle to see the relevancy of this in the novel and after that event not much happens in the book.
  • (4/5)
    Well-written, but still a little ho-hum.
  • (4/5)
    4.0 out of 5 stars Well Written, November 9, 2009Two couples, friends, an accident, a change in lives.Bird in Hand seemed to be more about the relationship between Ben and Claire and Charlie and Alison than about the accident that happened at the beginning of the book.The book was well written, but I thought it would be more about how Claire was dealing with and healing from what happened in the accident she was in.I enjoyed the book, though. I was also amazed how Alison's mother could read Charlie, Alison's husband, better than Alison herself and how she knew an affair was going on and Alison didn't.The ending really had a lot of good advice and thoughtful insights.I will give it a rating of 4 out of 5 because I did like how the book was written with the back and forth in time, and Kline did do a good job with the events that were going on.
  • (3/5)
    it's too rambling descriptive in most places so I just read few lines in each page to get a gist
    storyline gud, well written English but too long in descriptions
  • (3/5)
    The book started out good, with an interesting plot, but soon felt too similar to other books that deal with the same topic (being vague so as not to give anything away). For all the introspective thoughts each character shares with the reader, I really didn't feel as though I knew any of them or could relate to them very much. I did like how the novel spans decades working back to a certain point in time when the main issue at the root of this novel first started; this is done without making you feel confused as to where you are in the timeline.
  • (5/5)
    A great story, yes, you have read similar stories, but this one has twists that those don't. Great story.
  • (4/5)
    I found this book to be an honest examination of the complicated nature of how relationships come to be and how they break down. I identified with the approaches of each of the 4 characters, to their relationships, and it allowed me to reflect on mine. I’m not a huge fan of jumping back and forth in time, and I found that doing so for 4 characters was a bit confusing. I struggled to remember which childhood belonged to which character. I found the ending of the book refreshing; realistic, with loose ends, but hopeful.
  • (3/5)
    This was a good book, well written. Yet I found myself not particularly wanting to spend any time with any of the characters in it. Maybe it was the subject matter.
  • (4/5)
    I am always "shocked" when I find that I am rereading a book OR listening to a CD that I have already heard! It happened with this book and I'm surprised and/or disappointed with my brain that I really couldn't remember much beyond something in the first few pages! However, this reread really helped---I did NOT like any of the characters but I definitely like the way Kline writes and have read more of her books and have another one sitting here waiting. I apparently did not care for this as much the first time I read it!! I do like the way Kline shows events from the different points of view of her subjects. I also like the flow of the story---there really isn't a dull moment as you find out what happens.
  • (3/5)
    I did enjoy this book as it was an easy read but found it a little far fetched in places the way certain characters reacted to certain situations and how it all panned out in the end...
  • (3/5)
    First of all, I was confused by Kline’s pattern, or lack thereof, between past and present. Although some chapters were labeled with dates, others were not. The book was difficult to follow and the story was a common one, with nothing particularly new added by the author. As soon as we get into Claire’s story and wanting more, we switch to Charlie, or Allison, or Ben. It was hard to keep up with each character this way, or even which time period we were referencing. Kline kept me reading only because of my curiosity about the ending and where each character would land in the end, but I could have predicted the outcome!
  • (2/5)
    A car accident begins the undoing of two married couples, long time friends. While the car accident seemed to propel it, the undoing, as written, would have happened with some other trauma if not the accident. I found this to be a dark, character study of friendships-gone-bad. In my 20s and 30s I would have been intrigued by this type of story, I realize now that life can be depressing enough and I can read about it as non-fiction or bibliography or memoirs. I do not want to read about it as fiction.The writing in and of itself I found interesting and comforting with good descriptions of emotions and feelings and events. But, again, the undoing was the story and not a means to a story.Who would enjoy this book? Probably a 20 or 30 year old, one for whom sadness and depression still would be more theoretical than real. I would give this author another chance with a different subject matter.
  • (4/5)
    This is a story about two best friends, two couples, two families. Scenes from the present are interspersed with vignettes from the past, which show how things came to be, how Claire and Ben, an American couple in the U.K., came to meet Charlie, how Claire and Charlie were attracted to each other, how Claire chose to remain with Ben but invited her best friend Alison to meet Charlie, in the hopes of keeping Charlie in her life. In the present Alison and Charlie have two young children and live in the suburbs. The story is catalyzed by an evening party Alison attends in the city -- Claire's book launch -- and the car accident that takes place on her way home. By the end of the novel, the characters are living different lives, and learning to find contentment in different ways. Overall, though it deals with sad, even devastating events and situations, the outcome is hopeful. Life goes on...
  • (3/5)
    I got this as an early review copy and thought I would really enjoy it. The author sets up the story as many novels start these days. A tragic event - then what led up to it. In this case, the event is an automobile accident causing the death of a young boy. Allison is not legally at fault, but she had been drinking and maybe her reaction time wasn't what it could have been. She wonders if the accident might have been prevented. So that's the tragic event. Then the rest of the book explores the marriages of Claire and Ben and Allison and Charlie. Charlie and Claire have begun an affair. Ms. Kline is a skillful writer - some of the prose passages are lovely. But I never got engaged with the story. There was something missing - can't say what - and I never connected with the characters.I have a feeling that Ms. Kline has a really great novel in her - just not yet.
  • (4/5)
    Here's a new book just coming out. Ms. Kline does some interesting things with this story - she sets up a catalyst, but it has little to do with the story. She tells a story mostly chronologically, yet she has this backward moving story set against it, illuminating the present. She tells an all-to-common tale of infidelity with the stereotypical participant - the best friend, and then has the ability to show grace without wrapping everyone up in a "everything is so much better" blanket. Each of the protagonists is left with loss, but also there is some undefinable gain - although the lovers seem to lose more, somehow. I liked the story better than I thought I would half way through. I also liked the subtle poking Ms. Kline does as the bookselling process - the building of buzz, and being at the mercy of popular whim.
  • (4/5)
    Bird in Hand" by Christina Baker Kline is a novel that involves a woman who drives drunk, a toddler boy killed in a car accident, and two adulterous spouses. One would think these storylines would cause the reader agnst and pain on behalf of the characters. However, Kline's skillful writing draws the reader's attention to the larger issues at hand: unhappiness and the belief that life is too short to accept unhappiness as the norm. Wonderful, thought-provoking read.
  • (4/5)
    I enjoyed this book very much. I thought it would end differently, though. I like Christina Baker Kline's style of writing....I felt like I knew each character intimately....what they were feeling and thinking. I was able to lose myself in the story of Charlie and Allison's troubled marriage, and I envied Claire's wild and carefree attitude. I felt so sorry for Ben, who seemed to be the most stable and caring of the bunch. I loved her other book, The Way Life Should Be, and I look forward to reading more by this author. I highly recommend it.
  • (4/5)
    What happens when the choices you made come back to haunt you in the worst possible way, and at the worst possible time?The titular idiom of Christina Baker Kline's Bird in Hand tells us that it's better to keep hold of what you know, rather than chucking it all for what might be around the corner. But is it really?Two couples, each seemingly perfect lives. Charlie and Alison have been married for several years, living in the suburbs with their two young children. Claire and Ben, also married for several years, living in the city, devoted to their careers. Claire and Alison are childhood friends, growing up in a South that has been loosely fictionalized in Claire's new novel. The foursome have maintained their disparate friendship since their college days, seemingly rolling with the changes that have come their way. But all is not as it seems. Charlie has realized his mistake in marrying Alison, a choice he made years ago in order to stay in Claire's sphere. After miscarrying their child, Claire realizes that she's not sure she wants the baby that Ben so desperately does. Charlie and Claire embark on an affair, as unsettling as that betrayal is to both of them.Into this guilty mix comes the accident. After attending Claire's book launch party and having a few drinks, Alison is involved in a car accident in which a child is killed. Though she is ultimately proved not to be at fault, the accident sets in motion the events that eventually cause the unraveling and rebuilding of these four lives. Alison is guilt-ridden about the accident, barely able to function in its wake. Charlie, who has made the decision to leave his family, is angry and guilt-ridden at his obligation to stand by his wife instead of proceeding with his plans. Claire's guilt at her affair with Alison's husband has manifested itself in hostility toward her friend, and she feels badly that she refused Ben's suggestion to have dinner with Alison that night, which might have averted the accident. And poor Ben just isn't getting any of this. At all.Kline deftly presents the unveiling and unraveling of these families. The novel is a bit clunky in parts; the beginning of their relationships is presented not just in flashbacks, but backward - moving flashbacks. I understood that Charlie was devoted to Claire, I just never really understood why. Claire and Charlie were both highly unsympathetic, though I found myself feeling sorry for all four people, caught up in such hopelessly tangled connections and emotions. In the end, it shows that both doing the right thing and doing what makes you happy can result in a tangled up mess. Well done.
  • (4/5)
    "Following your heart" sounds like a good way to live your life - but it's rarely that easy to live it day to day, and at some point, it might not be so good for someone else's heart,Christina Baker Kline's Bird in Hand is a novel where not much happens, but what happens could happen to almost any of us, even though we'd rather not think about it. What it's ultimately about are the things we'd rather not think about, and the questions we really aren't sure we want to ask ourselves, because then we might have to answer them...and the answers could change everything.Kline's domestic drama focuses on the shift in relationship dynamics among four people - two couples with a long history together - over the course of a year in which one of the women is involved in a fatal car accident and the other publishes an autoboigraphical novel. The narrative viewpoints shift between the two women, old friends Alison and Claire, and their respective husbands, Charlie and Ben, and the structure of the novel mixes flashbacks through the couples' shared past with the crises of their present.The characters are, in many ways, people we've met before, and that helped me connect with their story. The fact that I have - not totally by choice - struggled through some of the same conflicts and life questioning that they're going through was another attribute that made me fly through this novel; it struck several chords with me. I really wasn't sure I'd like any of the characters early on, but gradually I developed sympathy for each of them and their place in a complicated situation.That's another thing that Kline does well in Bird in Hand; she recognizes that the questions we prefer to avoid can have difficult, sometimes scary, answers...and yet, those answers might be the right ones, at least at the time. We may find ourselves questioning them again later on. Bird in Hand doesn't really say anything new, but it says it well, and is a thoughtful and thought-provoking piece of women's fiction.
  • (3/5)
    I just finished reading this book and I really expected more from it. The story that the author told was too long. There was hardly any plot. Maybe this book should have had two parts. One to FULLY develop the characters and lead us to the outcome of the affair, and another part to show what happens to the characters afterward. As it was, the majority of this book is spent telling the obvious, something that you learn within the first few pages. And, the characters seem superficial, like reading a news story. I didn't really care that much about most of them. I kept reading though, because I kept waiting for the "and then......." part of the book. It finally came in the last 17 pages of the book. Things started happening. I wanted to find out what happened next. Where would they live? What was Alison's job like? Did Ben ever meet anyone and have a child? This is the story I wish I had read. But no, it just stopped. Maybe she will write a sequel, but I don't know that I would read it.
  • (4/5)
    4.0 out of 5 stars Well Written, November 9, 2009Two couples, friends, an accident, a change in lives.Bird in Hand seemed to be more about the relationship between Ben and Claire and Charlie and Alison than about the accident that happened at the beginning of the book.The book was well written, but I thought it would be more about how Claire was dealing with and healing from what happened in the accident she was in.I enjoyed the book, though. I was also amazed how Alison's mother could read Charlie, Alison's husband, better than Alison herself and how she knew an affair was going on and Alison didn't.The ending really had a lot of good advice and thoughtful insights.I will give it a rating of 4 out of 5 because I did like how the book was written with the back and forth in time, and Kline did do a good job with the events that were going on.
  • (3/5)
    The synopsis pulled me in. In the wake of a car accident in which a child was killed, Allison discovers that her marriage to Charlie isn’t as solid as she’d thought.I’d expected this book to explore the emotions surrounding the car accident: guilt, blame, fear, social stigmatization, etc. These are included, but only at the surface. There is very little emotional impact to this part of the story.The book is really about the marriages of Allison and Charlie, and their friends Claire and Ben. While the characters are fairly one-dimensional, their situations and choices make for very thoughtful reading. This is an excellent exploration of trust, infidelity, friendship, betrayal, and difficult choices.Bird In Hand has the major story line in present time, moving forward. But half the chapters are in the past, giving us the back-story. These chapters move backward in time (mostly… all though there is some jumping around). Different chapters are told from the points of view of the four main characters. All of this jumping around made the story somewhat disjointed, especially at first. I had a hard time putting the different time frames in order in my brain, until I caught on to the “flow”. All in all, I thought this book was just okay, and ultimately forgettable. The plot wasn’t memorable (other than the car wreck, which turns out to be a minor plot point). I didn’t connect with any characters.
  • (4/5)
    Two couples: Ben and Claire, Charlie and Allison -- good friends for years -- but Claire and Charlie begin an affair and the friendships, as well as the two marriages, deteriorate. The catalyst for the accelerated deterioration occurs when Allison is involved in an car accident in which she is not at fault but was driving over the legal alcohol limit. This book was nicely written. The characters and situations were well drawn -- but it was a bit slow in the middle. The book started out with a bang (excuse the pun) but then . . . not much happened until the end when everything comes to a head. They story jumped back and forth in time, which I like in some books when it adds to the suspense--but in this case, we already knew Charlie and Claire were having an affair so I didn't quite get the point of those flashbacks. While I enjoyed the book, I never found myself rushing to get back to it to find out what was going to happen. Ideally, the middle could have been shortened quite a bit and the ending and resolution could have used more elaboration.
  • (3/5)
    Why can’t people have what they want? The things were all there to content everybody; yet everybody has the wrong thing.These sentences from the novel’s epigraph are prophetic of its premise: What if, in a duo of married couples, the spouses are paired up wrong? Can they still have what (who) they want?Alison grew up best friends with Claire in a small Southern town. She met her husband through Claire and Claire's husband; they all relocated to the New York City area, and although Alison has sensed a distance in the relationships, she doesn’t realize that it’s because her husband and Claire are having an affair. When Claire’s debut novel -- a fictional account of their childhood -- is released with a book-launch party, it’s with mixed feelings that Allison drives into the City to attend. A couple of martinis ease her discomfort there, but they also dull her reactions on the drive home and contribute to a fatal car accident. Emotional aftershocks force the foursome to wake up to what they have -- and what they want -- in their friendships and marriages.Bird in Hand is a very quiet story, ethereal even, told largely through interior rumination and backstory. Its narrative structure is interesting: one linear storyline (told through an alternating focus on the four main characters) moves forward from the time of the accident; another, reverse-chronology “backstory”-line (reminiscent of Seinfeld’s “backward” episode, minus the comedy) traces their relationships back a dozen years. It works -- what begins as a collection of angry, whiny characters -- so unsympathetic that I nearly abandoned the book -- evolves with understanding into semi-sympathetic men and women whose stories I wanted to follow to a resolution.
  • (3/5)
    It’s difficult for me to enjoy a book in which there is not one character that I can identify with, or like, or even love to dislike. “Bird in Hand” is one of these types of books. The four main characters: Charlie, Claire, Ben and Alison are four people who hold almost no interest for me. Two come across the page as incredibly self centered and self absorbed and two almost seem so weak as to be pitied.I thought this book would be a realistic portrait of the difficulties of marriage, especially when a major life event occurs, in this case, a tragic accident. And there are teasers that the book will be that way.“A marriage hinges on these moments. Does she answer or does she lie still? All Alison could feel was an overwhelming dread. She did not want to know what he had to say. She remained quiet; the moment passed, and she drifted into sleep.”But instead, the accident almost becomes a side note as we learn how unhappy these four people are with the lives they have chosen. Well, at least two of them have chosen, the other two end up seeming a bit like pawns as friendships and marriages are established.“And as he sat in the dank common room, chatting with the Argentinean, feeling the vibration against the ceiling, he understood that the only way they might continue like this, together, was to make this group of three a four.”This is how Charlie, enamored of the new couple he’s met (Claire and Ben) decides that he should get partner up – with whom remains to be seen. In college, Claire picks Ben to marry, causing Charlie to pick someone, who turns out to be Alison, to marry so that they can be a foursome. Claire and Charlie make the choices, Ben and Alison accept those choices.The tragic incident at the beginning of this book really sums up the whole theme. Alison is involved in a car accident that isn’t really her fault. The other people involved made bad choices and the accident occurred because Alison didn’t get out of the way. Her marriage is much like that – she chooses very little in her life, she just happens to be in the right/wrong place at the right time and then events take place with her in them.“It was real life, the way things should be, and even as it was happening it felt to Alison like a distant memory, the moment already slipping into the past.”I would agree with the book jacket on my copy that author Christina Baker Kline has explored how people tell the stories of their lives and what those stories reveal about who they are. I think the writing of “Bird in Hand” was well done and the characters are well drawn – the drawings just happen to be of people that I wouldn’t care to spend much time with.
  • (3/5)
    This is the story of an adulterous couple and their spouses. It was well written and finely observed, but also superficial, because I felt as if I never really knew the characters. They seemed like symbols of discontent rather than real people.