Literary Wives gets rebranded

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Literary Wives has been around for quite some time now, started by Lynn of Smoke & Mirrors in July 2013. None of the original members are still participating. I joined in October 2013, so I guess I’m the oldest current member (probably in more ways than one). Anyway, thirteen years is a long time, and it’s time for a new look and name.

We tossed around some ideas, and Becky came up with The Marriage Plot for our new name. Rebecca kindly designed us a new logo, and it’s really cute!

Our mission remains the same, to examine marriage as it is depicted in books. We hope you’ll keep up with The Marriage Plot!

Review 2746: The Jealous One

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Celia Fremlin does it again! This time, a puzzling, suspenseful story in which you’re never sure how much to like the main character.

Rosamund awakens from a feverish dream in which she pushes Lindy off a cliff. When she awakens, she is still ill with the flu but relieved to find it was a dream. Her husband Geoffrey bursts in, saying that Lindy is missing. Then the novel returns to the day they met Lindy.

Rosamund and Geoffrey are happily married. Maybe they’re not the nicest people in the world, because they enjoy making fun of their neighbors, but they share many tastes and like talking things over.

Rosamund’s first glimpse of their new neighbor is of a dowdy woman with ugly furniture and a Pekinese (they prefer cats). They both agree there’s plenty to amuse themselves there. Rosamund sends Geoffrey over to invite the neighbor to dinner, but instead she invites them.

When they arrive, the room looks lovely and Lindy is attractive, charismatic, and outgoing. But Rosamund can’t help noticing that there are hidden barbs in what Lindy says, especially toward her sister, Eileen.

Already by the end of the first evening, Rosamund realizes there will be none of the usual post-party discussions. Geoffrey is enchanted.

The friendship continues with Geoffrey spending time gardening for Lindy and Lindy popping into their house at all hours. She calls them Geoff and Rosie, which Rosamund hates. Suddenly, there’s nothing funny about owning a Pekinese or growing tulips (which the couple used to dislike). Geoffrey’s pride in not owning a car but enjoying walking or taking a train disappears because Lindy has a car. Geoffrey is either with Lindy or Lindy is with them. Even Rosamund’s particular pleasure in visiting her mother-in-law is disturbed by Lindy first offering them a ride and then by her being included in their visits.

Rosamund is determined to show no jealousy, but she can see her marriage eroding, while Geoffrey remains blind to any problems. One of Lindy’s favorite topics of conversation is to blame the wives for any problems with a marriage. Even working wives, she says, should have dinner on the table for their husbands and be sure to make housework look effortless so their husbands don’t feel bad about not helping!!!

Rosamund is back and forth on whether Lindy is trying to ruin her marriage or is just oblivious. No one else seems to notice anything amiss. Everyone loves Lindy, but Rosamund is starting to hate her.

Returning to the present, Lindy remains missing, and Rosamund realizes she can’t remember the events of Tuesday, the first day of her flu, past a morning party she attended at a friend’s house. She thinks she was in bed, but then why are her shoes muddy? And why did she find Lindy’s new purse with her own coat on the bedroom floor?

Rosamund begins to worry that her nasty dream might be real. Did she kill Lindy? Surely not.

The suspense builds as we sympathize more and more with Rosamund and begin to see Lindy as a malevolent force. But did Rosamund kill her?

As always, Fremlin takes her time building her characters and situations, but she’s really good at hooking our attention and reeling us in for the dramatic finish. I’m happy to see that Faber is apparently publishing three more books by her that I haven’t read yet.

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If I Gave the Award

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With my review of Telephone, I’ve finished the shortlist for the 2021 Pulitzer Prize. Now it’s time for my feature where I decide if the judges got it right.

The Pulitzer is unusual, because there are usually only three or four books on the shortlist (although I prefer that to having lots and lots of books on the shortlist). For this year, there are three, a collection of short stories, most of them historical, a historical novel, and a contemporary novel, so they are hard to compare.

The winner was The Night Watchman by Louise Erdrich, a novel based on her grandfather’s work to save the Turtle Mountain Chippewa from being “emancipated” by the U. S. Congress (another attempt to abrogate treaties and steal land from the indigenous peoples) all the while working full-time as a night watchman. I felt that this tale was engrossing and that otherwise the novel was filled with interesting characters and subplots.

A Registry of My Passage on the Earth by Daniel Mason is a collection of short stories, many of them historical and some of them quirky, mostly about scientific curiosity or the characters’ perceived or actual potential. I liked them very much. Most of them had an optimistic tenor and felt like they were miniature historical novels.

Percival Everett’s Telephone is about a man’s obsession with helping others as an expression of his own grief over his daughter’s fatal illness. This is a novel that famously has three different versions. I was frustrated by the main character’s tendency to go rushing off on his Quixotic expeditions, trying to gain some kind of control but leaving his poor wife to deal with their dying daughter by herself.

I liked Everett’s book the least of the three but have a harder time deciding between the other two. But I guess, from the interest of its subject matter, I pick Erdrich’s novel. That means the judges got it right!

Review 2745: Telephone

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Telephone famously has three versions, each one different than the others—something I might be able to comment on if I’d read more than one. The novel is also divided into three sections, signified by different devices separating the chapters. In the first, it is Latin phrases; in the second, chess annotation, neither of which I understood (although I admit to being too lazy to look up the Latin). The third is a repeated sentence.

Zach Wells is a geology professor and paleontologist whose focus on his work in the Grand Canyon becomes dislodged when he and his wife Meg notice changes in their 12-year-old daughter Sarah, the person Zach loves best in the world. She has begun having minor seizures and her vision is blurry.

After visiting several doctors, the Wellses learn that Sarah has a rare neurological disease that is going to kill her. Zach clearly doesn’t know what to do with his grief.

Around the same time, he finds notes asking for help in some shirts he ordered from eBay. Perhaps to distract himself, he discovers where the packages came from and goes to a small town in New Mexico to investigate, oddly leaving his wife home to cope with Sarah, who is entering dementia.

This is an odd novel. Although Sarah early on tells him he can’t save everyone, he isn’t trying. He is unnecessarily harsh with a colleague up for tenure and a student with a crush, then he turns around and is nicer to them.

For me, apparently not agreeing with the critics, although wonderfully well written, the novel seems to go in several directions that are unresolved. But then, perhaps this is true to life, truer anyway than stories that neatly wrap everything up.

Zach isn’t a particularly likable person, and his way of running off in the midst of trouble, leaving the burder on Meg, is egregious. This novel is about grief, but it’s also about trying to have some kind of control over the randomness of life.

This is the last book I had to read for the 2021 Pulitzer Prize shortlist.

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WWW Wednesday

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It’s the first Wednesday of the month, so it’s time for WWW Wednesday, an idea I borrowed from David Chazan, The Chocolate Lady, who borrowed it from someone else. For this feature, I report

  • What I am reading now
  • What I just finished reading
  • What I intend to read next

This is something you can participate in, too, if you want, by leaving comments about what you’ve been reading or plan to read.

What I am reading now

Right now, I’m reading Monkey Boy by Francisco Goldman for my Pulitzer Prize project. Somewhere I read that it is nearly autofiction. I’m not familiar with Goldman’s history, but my impression is that it is entirely autofiction. So far, although well written, it is going slowly for me, as the narrator loops in and out from a present that seems to be set in the early 2000s back through his childhood and adolescence.

What I just finished reading

I thought I’d revisit a Georgette Heyer book that I haven’t read in a long time, The Great Roxhythe. It is one of Heyer’s earliest historical novels, not really a romance (maybe a bromance!), about a courtier in Charles II’s court. It reads like an early, less polished book compared to her later ones.

What I will read next

What I read next is always subject to change, but right now, it looks like it will be a book by Donal Ryan, Heart. Be at Peace. I enjoyed The Spinning Heart some years ago and always meant to get back to Ryan. Finally, I will. Also, it’s a novella, which right now is a good thing.

What are you reading now? Leave a comment and let me know!

Review 2744: Classics Club Spin Result! Our Mutual Friend

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One of the pleasures for me in rereading some of Dickens’s more massive works is the plethora of characters and plots and the author’s skill in linking them all up. Our Mutual Friend is one of those books, and it was chosen from my list by the latest Classics Club spin.

The novel begins when Jesse Hexam, a waterman, and his daughter Lizzie fish a body out of the Thames. A sequel to this incident is related by Mortimer Lightwood, a man of law, at a party. He tells the story of a man named Harmon who became fabulously wealthy dealing in dust. He had two children. He threw off his daughter for marrying a man with no money, and when his son came from school to defend his sister, he threw him off, too. When Harmon dies, he leaves the lowest mound of dust to an old family servant, Mr. Boffin, and the rest to his son, John Harmon, as long as John marries the girl his father has chosen for him. The son is located after an absence of twelve years, but then he is drowned after returning, a body of a gentleman having been found with only Harmon’s card on his person.

Brought to identify the victim is a young man named Julian Handford, but he is unable to identify the body. When next we see this mysterious young man, he is called John Rokesmith and has soon offered himself as secretary to Mr. Boffin, the residual legatee to Harmon’s estate, now wealthy.

The Boffins are honest and unsuspecting people who, we learn, were the only comfort for John Harmon in his younger years. Since they have inherited John Harmon’s estate, they decide to offer a home to Bella Wilfer, the girl that the elder Harmon had picked out to be wife for his son, reasoning that they have deprived her of wealth. Our first meeting with Bella is not the best. She is both angry at being parceled out to be a wife for a man she never met without her consent and yet determined to marry money, because she is sick of being poor. The ubiquitous Mr. Rokesmith has taken a room at her parents’ house.

The Wilfer family comprise Mr. Wilfer, described as a cherub, with a generous and pleasant disposition; Mrs. Wilfer, a grand, bitter lady who terrifies her husband; Bella, a beautiful spoiled girl; and Lavinia, a little shrew. To her credit, though, Bella likes the unsophisticated Boffins and accepts their invitation.

This is just the beginning of a complex story that features a character with a secret identity; a murder; a man consumed by jealousy; the pursuit of a beautiful but socially inferior girl by an idle member of society; an attempted murder; betrayal by an employee; a selfish brother; an unselfish sister; a kind old Jewish man who suffers many insults; a doll’s dressmaker; and much more. This novel is so complex, but it features characters that you care about, characters that you hate, passages that make you laugh, others that bring a tear. In short—everything you expect from Dickens. Although not as well known as some of his novels, this is one of my favorites—after Bleak House and maybe tied with David Copperfield.

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If I Gave the Award

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With my review of These Days, I’ve finished the shortlist for the 2023 Walter Scott Prize for Historical Fiction. So, it’s time for my feature in which I decide whether the judges got it right.

This time, the decision is difficult, because there are no books that stood out for me and also because it has been several years since I read some of the books. With the Walter Scott Prize, in particular, I often have to wait a while before the books become available in my library, if that ever happens. In this case, I finally was able to check out the last hold-out just recently.

Let’s start with the books I liked least. I am really not a fan of Simon Mawer. I always feel a great distance from his characters, plus I do not appreciate his apparent compulsion to mention certain female parts in every single book. This time, I found Ancestry, about his own ancestors, a little more interesting in subject matter, but I still noticed those same issues.

As for Adrian Duncan’s The Geometer Lobachevsky, about a Russian surveyor in 1950s Ireland who decides not to return to the Soviet Union, I acknowledged the book’s descriptive passages but said I felt meh about it. It doesn’t really have much of a plot but is more about day-to-day existence and the details of work.

I really didn’t like any of the characters in Robert Harris’s Act of Oblivion, about the hunt that begins after the Restoration for two men who signed the death warrant for Charles I. Harris’s recounting of brutal acts of war on both sides made me lose my usual preference for the Royalists. This book was interesting in its portrayal of the wildness of New England in the 17th century, though, as that’s where the two men go, with their pursuer behind them.

I found it hard to follow which narrator was speaking in I Am Not Your Eve by Devika Ponnanbalam. This book was about one of Paul Gauguin’s teenage Polynesian wives, not a very willing partner. Yes, I said one. Although I found some things in this book confusing and the viewpoint really foreign to me, it was more interesting to me than some of the others.

I think I liked the next two books about the same. They were both interesting and beautifully written. The Sun Walks Down by Fiona McFarlane is about a community searching for a lost boy in the 19th century Australian Outback. These Days by Lucy Caldwell is about a family caught up in the Belfast Blitz. It is the actual winner for 2023, and it’s a compelling read.

Although again, I didn’t think there were any stand-outs this year, the novel I liked best was The Chosen by Elizabeth Lowry, about the grief and guilt of Thomas Hardy after the death of his wife. Hardy has been oblivious to his wife’s unhappiness until he discovers her diary after her death.

This novel just runs better with my own interests as an admirer of Hardy’s work. So, I pick The Chosen. Nevertheless, These Days was my second-to-best choice, so the judges were at least in the ballpark.

Review 2743: These Days

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These Days is the last book I had to read for the 2023 Walter Scott prize shortlist, and boy, it made me feel uninformed. Of course, I knew about the bombing of England during World War II, but I had no idea that Belfast suffered similar bombings. But of course, I realized, that’s where they built the ships.

The book blurb makes it sound like this book is only about two sisters, Emma and Audrey, but it also spends time with their mother Florence and their younger brother Philip. Audrey is engaged to be married, to Richard Graham, a doctor who works at the hospital with her doctor father. Emma has volunteered to serve in a first aid station. Florence has been somewhat detached as a wife and mother, still grieving her first love, who died during World War I. Philip is just being 13.

It’s April 1941, and so far, things have been quiet. Emma has befriended an older woman named Sylvia, and they fall into an affair. For her part, Audrey doesn’t seem particularly excited about Richard or being married, more like she’s trying to convince herself.

Then one night when Richard and Audrey are at a dance, the attack comes full force. Richard has to go to the hospital, so Audrey finds herself in a shelter all night. Emma has been with Sylvia and has just turned back toward the first aid station when she is knocked unconscious by a blast. Florence and Philip spend the night huddled in a shelter.

The devastation is terrific. Whole neighborhoods are gone and hundreds of people are injured, killed, or missing. And this is the first of four major attacks.

This was certainly an eye-opening book for me. We have long associated Belfast with sectarian violence, but there was none of that in this novel, just a common fear of the Belfast Blitz. Earlier in the book, a transfer to Audrey’s job from England remarks at how much easier it is there to get decent food and goods. Well, that changes.

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Review 2742: Precipice

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It’s the eve of the First World War, and Venetia Stanley (sharing the name of her famous ancestor, subject of the novel Viper Wine) is having an affair with Prime Minister Asquith, more than twice her age. Perhaps it’s not a sexual affair, but it is certainly an emotional one. Asquith is known for his relationships with young women, but this one seems to be more serious.

In an incident that seems unrelated to the rest of the novel for a while, Venetia decides to meet Asquith at a party instead of going on a pleasure cruise with the set she hangs out with. During the cruise, two young men drown as part of a bet. The investigation brings in the character Detective Sergeant Paul Deemer, who notices Venetia’s name on the guest list and calls on her to take her statement.

Periodically, we check in on Deemer as he is recruited into Intelligence after the war starts, his job to find German spies. But most of the time, the book follows the relationship between Venetia and Asquith, leaving me wondering when and how the characters would link up.

Asquith’s behavior is frankly shocking, especially during war. Riding around in his limo with Venetia, he shows her a confidential message and then wads it up and throws it out the window. He encloses confidential and even secret telegrams in his letters to her and asks her opinion. Some of these actions make her uncomfortable, and she doesn’t know what to do with his letters, locking them in a box. He writes her several times a day.

The stories finally begin to link up when Deemer is assigned to find out about several messages turned in by the public. The conclusions of the initial investigation end with Deemer assigned to intercept Venetia’s correspondence.

This is not the taut thriller that Harris often produces. I found it interesting but got a little tired of reading especially Asquith’s letters, which are cringingly romantic. As the affair continues, Asquith writes Venetia letters during cabinet meetings and seems more obsessed by her than concerned about the war. Venetia in turn begins trying to find a way to escape the relationship.

I had very little sympathy with him, although I began slowly to sympathize with Venetia. It was interesting to learn about politics of this period and this odd relationship, but this wasn’t one of my favorite Harris novels.

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Review 2741: Pure Wit: The Revolutionary Life of Margaret Cavendish

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I’m not sure what possessed me to read two biographies about Margaret Cavendish so close together. I think I moved Pure Wit up in the pile without really looking to see what it was about, just remembering I had wanted to read it.

While Katie Whitaker’s Mad Madge is more of a biography for the general public, Peacock’s biography is the more scholarly and more concerned with Cavendish’s ideas and legacy.

Certainly, it traces Cavendish’s own concern with her legacy and her difficulties in being taken seriously in her own time. Although Cavendish was not the first woman writer to publish her work, she was pretty much the first to publish not only poetry and plays but her ideas on science and philosophy. Of her earlier work, some claimed that her husband, William, had written it, but by the last decade of her life, she had been invited to attend the Royal Society to see their experiments despite a reputation for eccentricity.

Peacock explores how Cavendish’s work, which made her famous during her lifetime, after her death quickly began to be denigrated and made hard to find so that scholars couldn’t make up their own minds about it. Biographers and critics began to fasten on a few contemporary remarks to claim she was unstable and to discuss only her poems about fairies and her biography of her husband, whereas she wrote widely on a multitude of subjects. For a while, she was depicted as a dutiful wife—which she probably wasn’t—and then the Mad Madge badge was pinned on her. Even Virginia Woolf made her the butt of jokes instead of trying to understand what she had done.

But actually, Cavendish was very much an early feminist and a ground-breaking writer. She was self-contradictory, but Peacock points out that other philosophers and poets of her time with the same faults—if it is a fault to change your mind about your ideas as you reconsider them—were not being criticized for them.

It’s pretty clear that the reputation Cavendish accumulated over time is a matter of misogyny.

If you want an easier-to-read biography, I’d recommend Whitaker’s, but if you are interested also in an in-depth analysis of Cavendish’s works and legacy, this is the book for you.

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