When people mock Anne Tyler as too safe, too dated, it's useful to point to "Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant." This is her masterpiece, as she herself would admit. It's about a woman, Pearl, who becomes embittered when her awful husband abandons the family. Overwhelmed by stress, Pearl isn't an ideal mother. Her children, Jenny, Cody, and Ezra, are frightened of her. Here's Jenny, thinking about her mom:
Mother was a dangerous person--hot breathed and full of rage and unpredictable. The dry, straw texture of her lashes could seem the result of some conflagration, and her pale hair could crackle electrically from its bun and her eyes could get small as hatpins. Which of her children had not felt her stinging slap, with the claw-encased pearl in her engagement ring that could bloody a lip at one flick? Jenny had seen her hurl Cody down a flight of stairs. She'd seen Ezra ducking, elbows raised, warding off an attack. She herself, more than once, had been slammed against a wall, been called "serpent," "cockroach," "hideous little sniveling guttersnipe." But here Pearl sat, decorously inquiring about another girl's weight problem. Jenny had a faint, tremulous hope that times had changed...But she never felt entirely secure, and at night, Jenny went off to bed and dreamed what she had always dreamed: her mother laughed a witch's shrieking laugh; dragged Jenny out of hiding as the Nazis tramped up the stairs; accused her of sins and crimes that had never crossed Jenny's mind. Her mother told her, in an informative and considerate tone of voice, that she was raising Jenny to eat her.
*A person can be several things. Pearl kisses her daughter good night, regularly, but also, on occasion, uses physical violence. It's a testament to Tyler's ability that you don't write off Pearl as a two-D villain; you can feel for her, just as you feel for Jenny, in this novel.
*Tyler uses fairy-tale imagery. Skipping through this paragraph is a Grimm Brothers sensibility. The "hot breath" evokes thoughts of dragons, the "claw-encased pearl" seems like something from "Sleeping Beauty," the witch's shrieking could be borrowed from "Snow White," and of course the idea of eating children transports us to "Hansel and Gretel." Do you want to know how to write, in a vivid, dramatic way, about some standard domestic conflicts? *This* is how you do it.
*One other note about Tyler's use of images. "Pale hair crackling electrically from its bun" and "eyes as small as hatpins": This is the kind of hyperbole with which a terrified child *would indeed* view her mother (who is just a person, and who can be meek in another scenarios). Tyler is showing us, rather than telling about, a little girl's confused inner world.
Jenny would naturally, also, fix her attention on the "claw-encased pearl" from her mother's engagement: Mrs. Tull never removed the ring, which must now be a source of pain for her, and which has become, weirdly, a way for her to inflict pain on others.
This novel is all about how we drag our pain into the family arena--how we often can't lash out at the person who hurts us, and so we dump our anger on someone powerless sleeping next door. It's also about how we must wrestle with questions about whether or not to forgive, and *how* to forgive. It's a novel that has aged well, and a novel that refuses to give us easy answers. I look forward to following flawed, relatable Jenny on further adventures...
Mother was a dangerous person--hot breathed and full of rage and unpredictable. The dry, straw texture of her lashes could seem the result of some conflagration, and her pale hair could crackle electrically from its bun and her eyes could get small as hatpins. Which of her children had not felt her stinging slap, with the claw-encased pearl in her engagement ring that could bloody a lip at one flick? Jenny had seen her hurl Cody down a flight of stairs. She'd seen Ezra ducking, elbows raised, warding off an attack. She herself, more than once, had been slammed against a wall, been called "serpent," "cockroach," "hideous little sniveling guttersnipe." But here Pearl sat, decorously inquiring about another girl's weight problem. Jenny had a faint, tremulous hope that times had changed...But she never felt entirely secure, and at night, Jenny went off to bed and dreamed what she had always dreamed: her mother laughed a witch's shrieking laugh; dragged Jenny out of hiding as the Nazis tramped up the stairs; accused her of sins and crimes that had never crossed Jenny's mind. Her mother told her, in an informative and considerate tone of voice, that she was raising Jenny to eat her.
*A person can be several things. Pearl kisses her daughter good night, regularly, but also, on occasion, uses physical violence. It's a testament to Tyler's ability that you don't write off Pearl as a two-D villain; you can feel for her, just as you feel for Jenny, in this novel.
*Tyler uses fairy-tale imagery. Skipping through this paragraph is a Grimm Brothers sensibility. The "hot breath" evokes thoughts of dragons, the "claw-encased pearl" seems like something from "Sleeping Beauty," the witch's shrieking could be borrowed from "Snow White," and of course the idea of eating children transports us to "Hansel and Gretel." Do you want to know how to write, in a vivid, dramatic way, about some standard domestic conflicts? *This* is how you do it.
*One other note about Tyler's use of images. "Pale hair crackling electrically from its bun" and "eyes as small as hatpins": This is the kind of hyperbole with which a terrified child *would indeed* view her mother (who is just a person, and who can be meek in another scenarios). Tyler is showing us, rather than telling about, a little girl's confused inner world.
Jenny would naturally, also, fix her attention on the "claw-encased pearl" from her mother's engagement: Mrs. Tull never removed the ring, which must now be a source of pain for her, and which has become, weirdly, a way for her to inflict pain on others.
This novel is all about how we drag our pain into the family arena--how we often can't lash out at the person who hurts us, and so we dump our anger on someone powerless sleeping next door. It's also about how we must wrestle with questions about whether or not to forgive, and *how* to forgive. It's a novel that has aged well, and a novel that refuses to give us easy answers. I look forward to following flawed, relatable Jenny on further adventures...
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