The Amateur Marriage
In the end, cleaning Karen required nail-polish remover. Soap and water weren't enough. Pauline had to wrestle her to the ground and practically sit on her to keep her from twisting free, and the whole time Karen behaved as if she were being murdered, her shrieks were reverberating off the bathroom tiles. "Stop that," Pauline told her. "You're hurting my ears." Lindy watched from the doorway, looking pleasantly entertained, while George - soaking in the bubble bath - peered wide-eyes over the rim of the tub. Then, of course, Karen had to be returned to the tub herself, hiccuping and sniffing, because now she smelled like a manicure parlor.
At least, it occupied the time till dinner was ready. The children seemed to have forgotten they were hungry. Even when they were settled around the dining room table, finally, damp and pale and subdued in their fresh pajamas, they made no move toward the plates Pauline had filled for them. "Eat," she told them, and she picked up her fork with a broader gesture than necessary, setting an example. She was slightly damp herself by now, her blouse and skirt splashed with bathwater, her face filmed with sweat. And she had no more appetite than they did, but she cut into her chicken breast with ostentatious enthusiasm. "I got this recipe from Mimi Drew," she told Michael. "I think you're going to like it."
It would be a miracle if he liked it (there were water chestnuts in it), but for once he didn't make one of his disparaging remarks. Instead, he rose and went to the kitchen for... what? For butter. She took it as a reproof; he could have asked her to fetch it. But no, he had to limp all the way into the kitchen and back, swinging his bad leg extra widely from the hip as he tended to do when he was tired. He placed the butter dish in front of his mother and inched back down onto his chair with a grunt. That the butter was for his mother added insult to the injury; it implied that Pauline was not properly alert to his mother's needs. His mother sliced into the butter at once and spread it directly on her bread, as if she'd been too desperate to allow it that ceremonial rest stop on her dinner plate. Michael took a mouthful of chicken and chewed steadily and doggedly. A little vein or muscle flickered in his left temple every time his jaws closed. He made eating seem like hard work.
"Well!" Pauline said brightly. "It was a real experience being back in the old neighborhood. I know you're used to it, Michael, going to the store every day, but for me it's always such a surprise! I think, Did we really live in this place? All the houses are so narrow and skinny!"
"You can but a spool of thread there, though, and not have to get into your car to do it," Mother Anton pointed out.
"Well, yes..."
"It's a compromise," Michael said.
George said, "Mama, me and Buddy - " but Pauline told him, "Hush, George, Daddy was speaking."
Michael had to finish chewing his mouthful of chicken first. Then he had to swallow. Then he had to take a drink of water. The silence grew so heavy that it was almost visible.
George tried again. "Me and Buddy -"
"There are pluses and there are minuses," Michael finally said. "We were aware of that when we decided to move out here. Yes, we do have more space now. SO in terms of the children, in terms of their...oh, shall we say, recreational activities, I admit one could vert well argue that...."
If he chose the wrong word just once, what difference would it make? If he failed to find the perfect, exactly right terminology, would life as they knew it come to an end?
"...and yet sometimes I can't help feeling that the space is, why, almost a ..drawback," he went on. "I mean a, what do I mean, a ...detriment. I feel that as a family, that is, as a cohesive family unit, if you follow my drift..."
Pauline cut into her wedge of lettuce, and her fork went chink! and the lettuce skittered off her plate. George and Lindy giggled. Michael stopped speaking and looked at her.
"Sorry," Pauline told him.
As a huge fan of Anne Tyler, I eagerly awaited her new novel for the last six months. This book is quite different from the others I've read (and I've read all but two of hers). First of all, it spans across about sixty years. Secondly, each sections is written from a different character's point of view (though, some characters are repeated). While it's obviously the married couple's story, it isn't very distinctly the wife's or the husband's. All of these aspects are new to her style. The prose, however, isn't. Her characters are just as memorable, quirky, and ordinary as they are in all books. The story has the same 'the extraordinariness of the ordinary' quality I always find in her novels. As a married person, I found the book to be sad and cried several times. But then again, I cry at all movies and books, so don't take my reaction as normal. If you enjoy Anne Tyler, I would certainly recommend this new novel. However, if you've never read her before and want to try, start with Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant. It's excellent. |
