"Spinster," by Kate Bolick

The word “spinster” is a fraught one, meaning “unmarried woman” but with connotations of “woman who couldn’t get a man” or “pathetic woman left behind.” In Kate Bolick’s intriguing exploration of the term and the concept of spinsterhood, “Spinster” (Crown, 2015), the author presents a much more positive view of the word and the condition. This book is a memoir, one with literary, sociological, historical, and philosophical sections and aspects. The throughline is Bolick’s own life, as she has arrived at age 40 without getting married; although she feels ambivalent about this, she also knows that she has intentionally, although not always consciously, steered clear of the married state. She has had a series of relationships, some quite long-term, but eventually she has always left them or let them die a natural death. Why? In a word: freedom. It is not that she hasn’t been with wonderful men, whom she takes care to praise (while preserving their privacy by using initials rather than names when discussing them). Her devotion to her work (writing and editing, but especially writing) and her need to keep control over her own life, both everyday life and long term destiny, make her leery of marriage. She makes the useful point that because relationships end does not mean they were failures; each man she was with, and each relationship, enriched her life. Another, related throughline in this book is Bolick’s description of five women writers who have been inspirations to her: Edith Wharton, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Maeve Brennan, and Neith Boyce. These women were all independent, although some of them were married at some points, usually briefly. She has learned something from each of them. Here she describes these writers and their lives, both professional and personal; she does research on them, including in some cases visiting places they had lived and interviewing relatives and others who knew them. Although Bolick does have times of wondering if she is missing out by not getting married, and not having children (which she also decides not to do), she is at peace with the decisions she has made. By the end of the book, she concludes that “spinster” represents a positive way of thinking and living for women; it does not necessarily mean not marrying, but it means being an equal human being, an independent one, and one who has goals and talents and work besides being wives and mothers. I have to say a word about the type of writing in this book: as mentioned above, it is a sort of hybrid of memoir and other genres, and I admire the way Bolick has blended these various parts. This book is a serious one, one that makes a contribution to the ongoing discussion of how women can and should live, and especially one that delineates a rich and complex option for women, one that is not as valued perhaps as the more common option of living a more traditional married life. In addition, Bolick makes the argument in an interesting, accessible way. And, for me and other readers I am sure, the exploration of the five women writers’ lives is an added pleasure – informative, inspiring, and (although not always happy) enjoyable.

"Gemma Bovery," a Film

I had read Posy Simmonds’ 1999 graphic novel, “Gemma Bovery,” and enjoyed it, so I thought it would be fun to see the movie version with the same title. It was fun, definitely, and a good although not a great film. Both the book and the film provide a tongue-in-cheek modern version of Flaubert’s great novel, “Madame Bovary” (which I read and studied in college, and re-read later, although not recently), in which the main character is named Emma Bovary. The film is in French, with some English, and English subtitles. The main character, Gemma Bovery, and her husband Charles move from England to the Normandy countryside, where Flaubert’s novel was also set. One of their neighbors is taken with the coincidence of Gemma’s name being so close to that of Emma Bovary, and at the same time develops a huge crush on her. He observes her constantly, in what would be a creepy fashion if it were not for his seeming innate basic decency. Gemma, like Emma, is unhappy in her marriage and bored, as well as being very beautiful and exuding sexuality, and inevitably she finds love or at least passion elsewhere, which eventually, also inevitably, leads to a sad ending. The film manages to balance lightness with seriousness, and is certainly entertaining, enhanced by the good acting on the part of all the main actors as well as by the beautiful setting. I am of course an easy mark for a book or film that is based on or connected to, and a variation on, a classic book, so I was predisposed to like this movie, and I did indeed like it. By the way, although having read “Madame Bovary” adds a little extra sense of connection to the film, it is definitely not a requirement for enjoying this film.

"The Green Road," by Anne Enright

I am sure readers share with me the excitement that we feel when we hear that one of our favorite authors has a new book out. We read reviews, we look for the book at bookstores or libraries, we eagerly look forward to having it in our hands, hoping and believing that it will be as good as or even better than the writer’s earlier books, and at the same time show us new aspects of the author’s repertoire and gifts. That is how I felt when I found out that Irish author Anne Enright had a new novel out, “The Green Road” (Norton, 2015). I loved her most well known novel, “The Gathering” (2007) and her short story collection, “Yesterday’s Weather” (2008), which I posted about here (9/6/11). I felt a little more ambivalent about her 2011 novel, “The Forgotten Waltz,” about which I posted on 11/11/11, but still wouldn’t have missed reading it. “The Green Road,” which I have just read, is at least as good as “The Gathering,” and shares some characteristics with that novel, as it too focuses on an Irish family which has dispersed and then gathers back home during a time of family crisis. In this case, the family home is in County Clare, and consists of a widow, Rosaleen, and her four grown children, along with their various spouses, lovers, and children. One daughter, Constance, lives nearby and is the classic “responsible one.” Another, Hanna, is an alcoholic and a new mother, and lives in Dublin. One brother, Dan, is a gay “spoilt priest” (which must be an Irish term – it means he studied toward being a priest but at some point gave it up) who fled to North America to be far away from his family; he has lived in New York during the 1980s and lost many friends and lovers to AIDS, but he now lives in a settled relationship in Toronto. The other brother, Emmet, has spent most of his adult life working for various charities and NGOs all over the world; the country that is focused on here is Mali. In the first half of the book, each family member gets her or his own chapter of backstory; in the second half, they all come to the family home for what may be their last Christmas there, as Rosaleen is threatening to sell the family home. All four of the children love their mother, but have deeply ambivalent feelings about her. She loves them too, but most of the time manages to make them feel inadequate and somehow in the wrong. Enright’s depiction of these uneasy, painful relationships and interactions is masterful, and frustrating even to read about. She manages to make readers understand and believe both aspects: the love and the unhappiness in their relationships. Each of the main characters (and some of the minor ones as well) is distinct and compelling, but the portrayal of Rosaleen is Enright’s greatest achievement here. The particular Irish small town and countryside settings are essential to the story as well, described with deep understanding and sharp details. The writing is authoritative and just plain splendid at times. I kept turning down corners in my copy. Two of many possible vivid examples: “Constance…did not mind walking through the sportings of rain, pulling the sky into her lungs. Sipping at the world.” (p. 101). “Beauty, in glimpses and flashes, that is what the soul required. That was the drop of water on the tongue.” (p. 165). The last chapter is titled “Paying Attention,” and that is what Enright does in all of her writing. We the readers are the fortunate beneficiaries.

"The Bookstore," by Deborah Meyler

When I was traveling in Europe last month and saw a novel titled “The Bookstore,” written by Deborah Meyler and published by the evocatively named and illustrious Bloomsbury Reader (2013), I couldn’t resist buying it. Some aspects of the book that appealed to me then and as I was reading the book (besides the title itself!): 1. The author is English, went to Oxford, and did a master’s thesis on Edith Wharton (one of my favorite authors) at St. Andrews (one of the cities I visited last month), and lives in Cambridge (UK). (I'm such an Anglophile...) 2. The author loves Manhattan, where she lived for several years, and this novel takes place there. (I love stories set in Manhattan...) 3. Much of the novel centers around an independent bookstore in Manhattan, one called The Owl. (Readers know how I feel about independent bookstores.) 4. The main character, Esme, is English but is now doing graduate studies in art history at Columbia University (I love the humanities and the academic world, where I have had my own career, albeit on the opposite coast of the U.S.) Besides the bookstore and her studies, Esme’s main storyline is her on-again-off-again relationship with a wealthy New Yorker, Mitchell; the two of them never seem completely in synch, and he gradually reveals himself to be rather cold and manipulative. There are more plot turns and twists related to this relationship, and to another possible relationship, but I don’t want to reveal too much. Esme is a thoughtful, intelligent, likeable character and one whom readers can relate to and enjoy spending time with. The owner and other staff members of The Owl are somewhat eccentric but very sympathetic and engaging, and provide a sort of surrogate family for Esme. I thoroughly enjoyed reading “The Bookstore.”

"Adult Onset," by Ann-Marie MacDonald

My late friend and fellow voracious reader, C., told me a few years ago about the Canadian author Ann-Marie MacDonald. (I’m the former Canadian, but she had worked in Canada for some years.) I am always glad to know about Canadian writers, as they do not get enough press in the U.S., unless their names are Alice Munro or Margaret Atwood (both of whose work I love and am in awe of). I then read MacDonald’s novel “Fall on Your Knees” and was very impressed. Now I have read her latest novel, “Adult Onset” (Tin House Books, 2014), and my positive impression of her writing has been reinforced. At first, it seems that this may be a typical “woman’s novel” in that it focuses on the overwhelmed and sometimes desperate feelings of a stay-at-home mother who is used to being a career woman. It is a little different from the usual such novel in that the main character, Mary Rose MacKinnon (note the similarity to the author’s own name) is married to a woman, Hilary. But being a lesbian mom is of course in most ways very similar to being a “straight” mom, when it comes to the day-to-day life of mothering small children full time. (I have to mention here that I am very pleased to post about this fictional married lesbian couple in Canada, just three days after the historic United States Supreme Court decision making same sex marriage legal throughout the United States. Hurray for marriage equality!). Mary Rose is an author, but has very little time or energy to write any more, especially since Hilary is often away for her work in theater. But this novel goes beyond the usual “mom” novel in its exploration of the many psychological forces Mary Rose is dealing with, and at times we worry about her psychological balance and safety. The novel alternates between feeling like a lot is going on and then that – excruciatingly – almost nothing happens some days and weeks. Just like real life, in other words. The writing in this novel is crisp, pointed, and vivid. I hope that Ann-Marie MacDonald and her writing will become increasingly recognized in the U.S. as it is already in Canada.

"A View of the Harbor," by Elizabeth Taylor

Another Virago book! Last time (6/25/15) I wrote about Polly Samson’s book “Perfect Lives” and mentioned that it was published by the venerable and revered (by me among others) feminist publisher Virago. By chance, the next book I read, Elizabeth Taylor’s novel “A View of the Harbor” (originally published 1947, republished by Virago in 1987) was from the same press. The Samson book was an example of a contemporary Virago book; Taylor’s book is an example of the Virago’s important work republishing (rescuing) books from the past by excellent women writers. The paperback I just read has a 2005 introduction by the author Sarah Waters, in which she praises Elizabeth Taylor, and says that ironically the author’s sharing a name with the famous movie star may have hurt the author’s reputation and the longevity, of lack thereof, of her work. I have long admired this author’s work, having read (and in some cases re-read) at various times many of her 17 works of fiction (twelve novels and five short story collections). This one, “A View of the Harbor,” takes a classic situation of a small community -- really mainly the occupants of one short street -- in a small town and explores each character, and the characters’ relationships, in detail. The inevitable comparison is with the novels of Jane Austen and of Elizabeth Gaskell. Taylor’s work is deceptively quiet and very insightful. Yes, there are events in the novel, but “what happens” is secondary to the depictions of the characters and their interactions. The main characters are two long time friends, Tory and Beth, who live next door to each other. Beth, a novelist, lives with her husband Robert, a doctor; her 19-year-old rather odd and disaffected daughter Prudence; and her six-year-old rather spoiled daughter Stevie. Tory lives alone, after her divorce from Teddy; her young son Edward is away at boarding school. Down the street are the disabled, gossip-hungry Mrs. Bracey, who is rather a tyrant to her two adult daughters, Iris and Maisie; another neighbor is the widowed Lily, living above and haunted by her family business, a wax museum. Then there is the new man in town – also a classic character in that he is interested in and makes friends with everyone, thus being a good device for revealing their traits and doings. He is Bertram, a suave and basically kind man of about 60 who flirts and connects, but has always avoided commitment in the past; questions in the novel include whether he will continue to do so, and if not, which of the available women he will become seriously involved with. One of the earlier mentioned characters is -- although so beautiful and elegant -- a study in selfishness, carelessness, and callousness; she is perhaps the most interesting character in the novel. The setting itself is of interest; the area of the harbor written about has seen better times, with more summer visitors, but now is somewhat neglected and decayed, as the action has moved to a newer area of town. The time is just post-World War II, so there is a lingering sense of deprivation; some food is still rationed, for example. Taylor also, through discussion of the novel-writing character Beth, slips in some meta-musing on the experiences of writing fiction; Beth sometimes wonders if her writing is really worthwhile, and if it will last, but feels she cannot stop writing, as writing is life itself to her. Readers cannot help but conclude that these thoughts echo those of the author herself. Taylor’s books are dramatic in a low key; her observations and insights are thoughtful and ring true. I recommend them highly, especially if you already appreciate fiction by two other novelist Elizabeths with whom she shares some aspects of sensibility: Elizabeth Bowen and Elizabeth Jane Howard. (One note: Perhaps some readers will remember the 2005 filmed version of Taylor’s novel “Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont”; it was a beautifully directed and acted film, starring Joan Plowright and Rupert Friend, and well worth viewing.)

"Perfect Lives," by Polly Samson

I had never heard of the British novelist and short story writer, Polly Samson, but recently read a review of her new novel, “Kindness.” That novel is not yet at my local library, but I decided to sample one of her other books, “Perfect Lives” (Virago Press, 2010), a collection of short stories. I thought if I liked it, I would make the effort to find the new novel, and if not, not. Well, this is one of those cases where I am just on the line between yes and no. I enjoyed the stories, and they address some of the big issues – love, family, relationships – and some of the small events of everyday life – that I like reading about. But they seemed a bit “light”; they just didn’t have the substance I prefer. So I haven’t decided yet whether to pursue reading her new book, and perhaps her earlier books. A side note of interest: Samson is married to Pink Floyd member David Gilmour, and has been a co-writer of some of his, and Pink Floyd’s, songs. (My husband and I were great fans of Pink Floyd in the “early years” – theirs and ours!) Another side note, of even more interest to me, is that this book is published by Virago Press, the great feminist British publisher that rediscovered and published many “lost” (or at least badly neglected) women’s writings back in the 1970s and onward. It has undergone various changes in ownership and management, but is still proudly feminist and still publishes work by women and occasionally by male authors writing about feminist or female-related themes. I still remember reading some of the earliest Virago titles in the 1970s and being so grateful to the press for resuscitating and preserving some great writing by women. They included titles by Vera Brittain (whose “Testament of Youth” is now out as a film, one which I saw last week and highly recommend), Antonia White, Christina Stead, Dorothy Richardson, Winnifred Holtby, and many others. As a bonus, and a kind of statement of the value of these books, they were and are beautifully produced, with gorgeous covers.