Before you decide this is not a novel you want to read, think
again. Most of us know someone grappling with a personality disorder, some so
severe as to wreck their lives. Depression, bi-polar disorder, borderline personalities... these conditions ruin lives, but also the mark of creative and/or non-traditional spirits. Interesting people.
At the very least, we know more than ever that such conditions are more about hard wiring, or trauma, and are integral to individuality.
Consider how touching a novel might be that
deals with two members of one family with a shared disorder and
the dramatic impact on other members of that family. Also consider the exquisite
craftsmanship of Adam Haslett. [You may remember his
debut collection of stories, You are Not
a Stranger Here, which was shortlisted for both the Pulitzer Prize and the
National Book Award.] His promise has been fulfilled.
At heart,
this is a love story – the passion of a woman for a man she might never fully
understand, and whose challenges she takes on as her own – as well as maternal
love. And, a tale of faith – the faith we place in each other, and our parents
and siblings, to steady our journeys.
The novel
begins in the sixties in London and over several decades moves between England,
Massachusetts and Maine, and shifts voices between the five characters, each reflecting the others. The children grow up; they display their own fierce
individuation, their drive and disappointment, and the bond they’ve cemented to
each other.
A striking
piece of writing, surprisingly funny in parts, heart wrenching of course,
although Haslett never condescends to tug at a reader’s heartstrings. The story
is powerful enough because it is told with honesty as well as compassion.
There is
one particularly amazing chapter in which the elder son describes his pastimes
and pursuits over the years, segmented not by timeframe or location or even
experience, rather by the medication he was on at the time. It’s as shocking a
statement on psychopharmacology as I’ve read and a powerful evocation of the
way in which those who struggle are expected to conform to a vague measure of
normalcy.
I was drawn
to each of these characters, but especially the mother, Margaret. Perhaps
because I am a mother, perhaps it was her knowing sacrifice, her commitment to
love and family. Whatever the reason, she spoke to me, especially when she
spoke of intimacy.
It was all part of what kept up a sense of
mystery between us at the start. That tension of not knowing but wanting to
know. You’d think that after seventeen years of being together and three
children and moving together from London to a small town in Massachusetts, this
kind of mystery would be dead and gone, the ephemera of early love washed out by
practicality, and much of it is.
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