Amity Gaige writes the way I wish I did. Many writers, as I'm reading their carefully crafted stories, floor me with their precision, ability, control and vision. But, Amity Gaige reminds me of myself, but better--way, way better. Her characters exist in a dreamy haze, and she writes almost exclusively of love's various branches (romantic and filial, mostly) and its implications. Yes, this is a common theme. But, her stories are not cliched or overly romanticized. Human flaws take center stage, due to Gaige's focus on the juxtaposition of our inner and outer lives. Ho-hum on the outside, tumultuous inside.
Clark and Charlotte, a young and newly married couple, move into their new home which slowly reveals itself as a sort of ghost museum for the foibles of human relationships. Through the positive and the not so positive, Gaige's ability to hypnotize is professional, as her sentences are gorgeous, her plot complex and round, and her characters both tragically loveable and hateable, all rolled into one. Sensitivity and a preponderance of ponderings on the world's ways characterize the novel. Gaige's characters, as well as the third person narration, perceive the world in a fashion similar to the way I do. I was reminded of my actions and life while reading about Charlotte and Clark, but also found myself wishing my reality could more closely mirror the fabulous phrasings and adorable actions of the leading couple. Not only do I want the run of a home of my own (or even an apartment!) but I also want Clark and Charlotte's blanket game, and some of their own particular habits. This is the beauty of Gaige's writing--her characters are fabulously real, but the words--the words are better than in reality, but this only serves to make the world as it is seem sweeter. Gaige's characters, words, and reflection of the world cast a glow on it's mirror image.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Loving Frank by Nancy Horan
Historical fiction was a favorite during childhood and adolescence, when the genre spirited me away to romantic, and romanticized, places and times. I slipped silently off the paths of the underground railroad and into homes, candles shining in the windows as a signal of safety. I watched as a war was fought--but sat it out as a Quaker. I travelled on horseback. I read, I learned, and I loved historical fiction.
Unfortunately, as an adult, it's a tough job finding a good work within this genre. Sarma, who dedicatedly chews her way through the NYTimes bestsellers, handed me Loving Frank. It is a fabulous fabrication--a love story, for sure, and a true bubba meisa. I read the book and the after-notes wishing that a stronger guarantee of truth could have been present in the pages. I want to know for sure that the compassionate, intelligent, and brave Mamah Borthwick presented in the book is the same woman who existed at the turn of the century, throwing Chicago's society into an uproar. She left her husband and children for Frank Lloyd Wright and the strong love and affinity they found with each other.
Loving Frank is not Frank Lloyd Wright's story, it is the story of the woman who loved him and was loved by him in a house by the hills of Wisconsin. If the end of The Awakening had been changed, Mamah's story could be that of Edna Pontellier. This is a woman who dealt with her feelings, who knew she owed it to herself not to drown them. Nancy Horan clearly crafts Mamah into a woman who knows her children will be better served by a parent who knows who she is than by a parent who is stifled by the rules by which she is expected to abide.
Succumbing to desires frowned upon by her community was an act that looked quite different for Edna than it did to Mamah. Mamah made passionate love to an eccentric architect on the floor he had designed for Mamah and her husband. She lost herself in her ruminations, her plans for the next tryst, and eventually in her desire to live a "true" life. The so deeply loved Frank of the title was eccentric, genius, and incredibly self-important, as well as a partner in a romantic relationship--in other words, a man who at times, became quite strange to Mamah, and who frustrated her to a near-breaking point. This reality--of imperfection within the existence Mamah idealized while comparing her married life to that of the main character of The Yellow Wallpaper, is what makes this novel so realistic and captivating. And, Mamah not only questions her relationship with Frank, but with herself. She wants to be a woman who makes worthwhile contributions to the world, but struggles with the reality of that situation as well. Her translations of feminist writings initially bring her the feeling of satisfaction she desired, but soon enough, issues popped up and she questioned her scholarly work, which, incidentally, tied into her romantic life. Her scholarly work and personal life were two intertwined threads, and due to the climate of the times, she was faced with problems and heartache about both.
Loving Frank is a fascinating story, as it imagines the life of a singular woman of her time, but is also indicative of what a life might have been like for any intelligent, forward-thinking woman of the time. And, it proves that life would not have been simple.
Unfortunately, as an adult, it's a tough job finding a good work within this genre. Sarma, who dedicatedly chews her way through the NYTimes bestsellers, handed me Loving Frank. It is a fabulous fabrication--a love story, for sure, and a true bubba meisa. I read the book and the after-notes wishing that a stronger guarantee of truth could have been present in the pages. I want to know for sure that the compassionate, intelligent, and brave Mamah Borthwick presented in the book is the same woman who existed at the turn of the century, throwing Chicago's society into an uproar. She left her husband and children for Frank Lloyd Wright and the strong love and affinity they found with each other.
Loving Frank is not Frank Lloyd Wright's story, it is the story of the woman who loved him and was loved by him in a house by the hills of Wisconsin. If the end of The Awakening had been changed, Mamah's story could be that of Edna Pontellier. This is a woman who dealt with her feelings, who knew she owed it to herself not to drown them. Nancy Horan clearly crafts Mamah into a woman who knows her children will be better served by a parent who knows who she is than by a parent who is stifled by the rules by which she is expected to abide.
Succumbing to desires frowned upon by her community was an act that looked quite different for Edna than it did to Mamah. Mamah made passionate love to an eccentric architect on the floor he had designed for Mamah and her husband. She lost herself in her ruminations, her plans for the next tryst, and eventually in her desire to live a "true" life. The so deeply loved Frank of the title was eccentric, genius, and incredibly self-important, as well as a partner in a romantic relationship--in other words, a man who at times, became quite strange to Mamah, and who frustrated her to a near-breaking point. This reality--of imperfection within the existence Mamah idealized while comparing her married life to that of the main character of The Yellow Wallpaper, is what makes this novel so realistic and captivating. And, Mamah not only questions her relationship with Frank, but with herself. She wants to be a woman who makes worthwhile contributions to the world, but struggles with the reality of that situation as well. Her translations of feminist writings initially bring her the feeling of satisfaction she desired, but soon enough, issues popped up and she questioned her scholarly work, which, incidentally, tied into her romantic life. Her scholarly work and personal life were two intertwined threads, and due to the climate of the times, she was faced with problems and heartache about both.
Loving Frank is a fascinating story, as it imagines the life of a singular woman of her time, but is also indicative of what a life might have been like for any intelligent, forward-thinking woman of the time. And, it proves that life would not have been simple.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)