The strange thing about any kind of good family counseling is that little asides can have more weight than the "big declamatory" moments. I was flustered at the start of a session because I had just finished an hour of tutoring, and my student's "absolute value" chapter did not match my own "absolute value" chapter. I had prepared certain material--and I then had to observe, in real time, that I'd made an error and I'd created a need for on-the-spot course correction. I happen to be weirdly insecure about absolute value, and I had to say, in a faux-calm voice, "We'll start here next week." The counselor I talk to rummaged around in her "cognitive-behavioral" toolbox. Apparently, if something small is bothering you, you have to "drill down" to a core belief, the real source of the distress. Then you have to try to "tell a different story" about yourself. So--for example--if you flub a question about a...
A Gothic novel tends to be built on family secrets and a hint of the supernatural. "A Beautiful Family"--the recent debut novel by Jennifer Trevelyan--fits the bill. It's c. 1985. Vanessa, a teen girl, seems drawn to the ocean waves. When she almost drowns, she describes a feeling of having been summoned, as if by the gods of the ocean. Could this be possible? Or is Vanessa making up the story to conceal the fact that she just wanted to be rescued by a hunky lifeguard? The question is left unanswered. Vanessa's family is rotting away; the "parasites" in question are just a series of lies. Vanessa's mother is lying about her rapport with a vacationing neighbor. Vanessa is lying about her extracurricular activities. The narrator--ten-year-old Alix--is committing multiple sins of omission. For example, she has suspicions about a missing Walkman--but if she shares what she knows, she will be disciplined. The short-term misery seems to outweigh the long-ter...