THE WEIGHT OF WINTER, by Cathie Pelletier, Viking, 415 pages, $22.95.

“There ain’t no big things in little towns like Mattagash, Maine. That’s why the little things is so important. When they’re all strung together, them little things make up the whole of some people’s lives.” — Selma Craft to her daughter-in-law, Charlene

In “The Weight of Winter,” her third Mattagash novel, Cathie Pelletier shows us again how powerful those little things can be. Weaving together the petty grudges, human weaknesses and small acts of herosim which make up everyday life, she presents us with her most richly textured creation to date.

Twenty years have passed since the end of “Once Upon a Time on the Banks.” Albert Pinkham’s Family Hotel lies in ruins. The opening of The Crossroads Tavern has the temperance watchdogs in an uproar. Microwave pizzas have found their way north, along with satellite dishes, Lyme disease and CNN.

There are still a few familiar faces around town, though two decades have left their mark on each. Amy Joy Lawler, unmarried at 44, contemplates the diverse allurements of freedom and familiarity while trying to wheedle her cantankerous mother, Sicily, into the St. Leonard nursing home. Pike “Little Pee” Gifford, grown up to fulfill his Gifford heritage, alternately torments and neglects his wife and children. Dorrie Fennelson and Lola Craft, Amy Joy’s childhood rivals, have matured into two wonderfully unpleasant women who lend the book some of its most humorous moments as they careen over icy Aroostook roads in search of Elvis and bad news.

The underlying structure of Mattagash life remains unchanged. McKinnons, Crafts and Fennelsons still look down their long Irish noses at the Gifford clan, and nobody trusts the French. Gossip, the dog-eared oral tradition and collective consciousness of any small town, flows constant as the Mattagash River itself.

“When it comes to Mattagash gossip, time had no dimension, no limitations,” observes Amy Joy. “Gossip curved somewhere out in space and flickered back. Gossip was an unbroken, unwavering line that touched generation after generation. It was a continuum. Mr. Albert Einstein would have had a field day in Mattagash, Maine.”

All of Cathie Pelletier’s books have received critical acclaim. Both “The Funeral Makers” and “The Weight of Winter” were chosen recently as Editor’s Choice books by The New York Times. It came as a surprise, therefore, to learn in a recent interview this third book is the only one with which she’s truly satisfied.

“It’s the first one I feel I really went out of my way to rewrite and shape things,” she said. “I can’t look at the first two without wanting to rewrite them. Some who have read this new one say, `It isn’t as humorous as the others, is it?’ Well, that’s probably true but I like the humor in this new one better. It’s more subtle. There are no large high jinks of any kind, no mooning funeral processions or anything like that. In `Winter,’ I tried to employ a better blend of comedy and tragedy and the poetic sensibilities as well.”

Her roots as a poet have never been more evident. The imagery of the story is evocative, the language wonderfully varied and frequently lyrical, as in this passage in which Sicily Lawler, frustrated by the bitter realities of old age, contemplates her hands:

“`If they was gloves,’ Sicily thought sadly, `I’d throw them out.’ But they weren’t gloves, although purply-brown patches had begun to inch like a lacy pattern across her skin. A pretty design almost, if you didn’t know what it was, what it meant. When frost comes to the vegetables, no matter how artfully it disguises itself on windows and doors and garden gates, when frost and something alive come together, it isn’t a two-sided victory. Frost wins.”

Pelletier tells this story through many eyes, many voices; Lawlers, Giffords, Crafts all have their say. One of the most striking characters of all is Mathilda Fennelson, Mattagash’s oldest living resident, who dreams of her past life as she lies dying in a nursing home. Presented in the first person, she speaks clearly from the page, telling of the pain and pleasure she has known over her 107 years in Mattagash.

Perhaps because it is set in 1989, “The Weight of Winter” does not have the sepia tint of nostalgia which worked so well in her other books. It depends less on humor, more on a realistic look at how people in isolated communities survive. There is alcoholism here, domestic violence, ignorance, and the quiet desperation of unfulfilled dreams. Yet, knowing her people so well, Cathie Pelletier understands how to leaven the mixture with compassion and an understanding of the human spirit.

Lynn Flewelling is a free-lance writer who resides in Bangor.