"Some Hope" tells two stories. Both concern a character's moral growth. In the "A" Plot, Patrick resolves never to tell anyone about what happened to him in childhood. He hates his sober life; "it's fucking hell being lucid." But his friend Johnny requires him to attend an NA meeting. There, he hears a stranger describing things that he (Patrick) knows all too well: "When I drop sugar on the counter, I pretend it's cocaine, a line of cocaine. I sometimes think the TV is talking to me, directly." Patrick watches as Johnny confesses his fears: "I'm going to a party, and there will be alcohol, and I'm worried for me and for my friend." A turning point comes when an elderly acquaintance speaks to Patrick: "If you're just treading water, then you're guilty of the gravest sin. You are wasting time." With that, Patrick runs to Johnny and describes the rapes. He is forced to reflect on his own past, to find words for his own suffering. He is forced to accept sympathy from Johnny. Having done this, he feels oddly buoyant. That's where the title for the novel comes from; at the very end, having unburdened himself, Patrick feels "some hope."
-Meanwhile, Bridget, from "Never Mind," is back. She's a mess. Her husband is cheating on her; Bridget discovers this when a walkie talkie goes haywire. (Smart writing here: the walkie talkie establishes information about the daughter and the nanny, even as it also introduces the infidelity plot. Killing two birds with one stone.) Hurt people hurt people. Exasperated by her (thoughtful, gracious) mother, Bridget inflicts pain. "Mummy, you will not attend dinner with Princess Margaret. You won't like all that fuss." Incisive dialogue here: Bridget forces her mother to lie and say Bridget is right. Bridget then murmurs, "I'm really thinking of her." (Do you have memories of the daughters in "King Lear"?) It's only the little girl--Belinda--who isn't blind to what's going on. "Why did Grandma look so upset just now?" Then something surprising happens. Bridget grows tired of her husband, and her life, over the course of the party. She is repelled by the shallowness and cruelty around her. She goes to her mother and says, "We're leaving. We're taking Belinda." And: "I haven't always been nice to you, and I'm sorry about that." This is one of the most heroic moments in the Melrose novels: small but potent. Like Patrick, Bridget is trying on self-reflection. We're turning away from the corrosive cynicism of the first two volumes; we're making our way toward the (slightly) warmer narration that we'll find in "Mother's Milk" and "At Last."
-Patrick remarks that irony is the hardest addiction to kill. Not having to commit oneself to a fixed meaning. Patrick is so consistently appalled by memories of his father, he finds relief in saying things that obviously aren't true. "My father was a kitten." "I hardly think of my father these days." Irony everywhere: Nicholas says, "It's a party, Patrick. You're not *meant* to have fun." Johnny pretends to seduce his (married) girlfriend; in lecherous tones, he says, "My friend can't wait to meet your..." and the next two words are really jarring, in this context: "....your husband." This kind of humor is the part of St. Aubyn's work that gets people reminiscing about Evelyn Waugh.
-St. Aubyn really turns his attention toward small children, more and more. Melrose of course gets along with little Belinda; he sees his helpless child-self in her. Belinda is powerless before the ogre Princess Margaret ("in birth, there are no accidents"), and we see Patrick bonding with Mary in their mutual Margaret-based disgust. There's also a nice moment where the two future parents laugh about a hotel ad: "Book Early and Avoid Disappointment." As if disappointment weren't everywhere, as omnipresent as air! Patrick rolls his eyes. "Avoiding disappointment: If only I'd known, all along, it could be so easy...."
-Every action has a consequence. In telling his own story, Patrick becomes agitated. He cuts off a faintly supercilious waiter. This is a source of humor: This crazy world won't let us have our profound, uninterrupted moments of truth-telling! But there's also something serious happening here. Patrick understands he can revisit what occurred with the waiter. He can use words to make things right, or at least closer to right. This is growth, for Patrick. Patrick spots an old girlfriend at a party; he tries to atone for past misbehavior. "This is one of your twelve-step things, isn't it?" she says, angrily. "Spare me." Patrick has to live with that, too; no matter how decent you become, you will be misunderstood in some quarters. You will have crosses to bear. This is just like life, and it reminds me of the moment in Michelle Huneven's "Blame" when the formerly drunken protagonist confronts her less-than-forgiving colleagues. Patrick's quest to be good doesn't feel trite, and it somehow manages to be funny throughout. And moving. On Saturday, we'll pick up with "Mother's Milk," the only one of the five Melrose volumes to get serious Booker Prize consideration. It has an audacious beginning, where St. Aubyn "defamiliarizes" by describing the world from the perspective of--you guessed it--a very small child. The writer is endlessly inventive and unafraid of risks. I'm looking forward to the weekend!
-Meanwhile, Bridget, from "Never Mind," is back. She's a mess. Her husband is cheating on her; Bridget discovers this when a walkie talkie goes haywire. (Smart writing here: the walkie talkie establishes information about the daughter and the nanny, even as it also introduces the infidelity plot. Killing two birds with one stone.) Hurt people hurt people. Exasperated by her (thoughtful, gracious) mother, Bridget inflicts pain. "Mummy, you will not attend dinner with Princess Margaret. You won't like all that fuss." Incisive dialogue here: Bridget forces her mother to lie and say Bridget is right. Bridget then murmurs, "I'm really thinking of her." (Do you have memories of the daughters in "King Lear"?) It's only the little girl--Belinda--who isn't blind to what's going on. "Why did Grandma look so upset just now?" Then something surprising happens. Bridget grows tired of her husband, and her life, over the course of the party. She is repelled by the shallowness and cruelty around her. She goes to her mother and says, "We're leaving. We're taking Belinda." And: "I haven't always been nice to you, and I'm sorry about that." This is one of the most heroic moments in the Melrose novels: small but potent. Like Patrick, Bridget is trying on self-reflection. We're turning away from the corrosive cynicism of the first two volumes; we're making our way toward the (slightly) warmer narration that we'll find in "Mother's Milk" and "At Last."
-Patrick remarks that irony is the hardest addiction to kill. Not having to commit oneself to a fixed meaning. Patrick is so consistently appalled by memories of his father, he finds relief in saying things that obviously aren't true. "My father was a kitten." "I hardly think of my father these days." Irony everywhere: Nicholas says, "It's a party, Patrick. You're not *meant* to have fun." Johnny pretends to seduce his (married) girlfriend; in lecherous tones, he says, "My friend can't wait to meet your..." and the next two words are really jarring, in this context: "....your husband." This kind of humor is the part of St. Aubyn's work that gets people reminiscing about Evelyn Waugh.
-St. Aubyn really turns his attention toward small children, more and more. Melrose of course gets along with little Belinda; he sees his helpless child-self in her. Belinda is powerless before the ogre Princess Margaret ("in birth, there are no accidents"), and we see Patrick bonding with Mary in their mutual Margaret-based disgust. There's also a nice moment where the two future parents laugh about a hotel ad: "Book Early and Avoid Disappointment." As if disappointment weren't everywhere, as omnipresent as air! Patrick rolls his eyes. "Avoiding disappointment: If only I'd known, all along, it could be so easy...."
-Every action has a consequence. In telling his own story, Patrick becomes agitated. He cuts off a faintly supercilious waiter. This is a source of humor: This crazy world won't let us have our profound, uninterrupted moments of truth-telling! But there's also something serious happening here. Patrick understands he can revisit what occurred with the waiter. He can use words to make things right, or at least closer to right. This is growth, for Patrick. Patrick spots an old girlfriend at a party; he tries to atone for past misbehavior. "This is one of your twelve-step things, isn't it?" she says, angrily. "Spare me." Patrick has to live with that, too; no matter how decent you become, you will be misunderstood in some quarters. You will have crosses to bear. This is just like life, and it reminds me of the moment in Michelle Huneven's "Blame" when the formerly drunken protagonist confronts her less-than-forgiving colleagues. Patrick's quest to be good doesn't feel trite, and it somehow manages to be funny throughout. And moving. On Saturday, we'll pick up with "Mother's Milk," the only one of the five Melrose volumes to get serious Booker Prize consideration. It has an audacious beginning, where St. Aubyn "defamiliarizes" by describing the world from the perspective of--you guessed it--a very small child. The writer is endlessly inventive and unafraid of risks. I'm looking forward to the weekend!
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