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Anne Tyler's New Novel

 One of Anne Tyler's major themes is ambivalence (and no wonder I love her).


Tyler's new novel, "French Braid," has a memorable protagonist, Mercy, who half-abandons her art career. But later, after the kids are grown, Mercy does something audacious; she buys herself a little painting studio, and she quietly moves all of her possessions into the studio. She never informs her husband--Robin--that she intends to make a new home. In fact, she continues to return to Robin, to prepare and freeze a lasagna, or to observe an important anniversary. Mercy is caught between two worlds--and not quite satisfied. It's easy enough to lose yourself within her story.

Or consider her granddaughter, Candle. Candle is, in fact, "Kendall," but she has the nickname because, in early childhood, she confused a few of her vowel sounds. ("I am KAN-DELLLL!") Candle is delighted that her grandma calls her by her real name--and she even begins to insist that she herself is reclaiming "Kendall," she is forsaking "Candle." But the shift never quite occurs; Candle is left in a "liminal" space. (Again--easy to sympathize here. And when Candle tries on a new identity as an artist, we're unsure if the label will stick. "Is this worth pursuing? Should Candle give up her time on this?" asks Candle's mother. And Mercy says: "Is it worth pursuing? Only the artist--the one holding the brush--can answer that question.")

Finally, Tyler describes the ambivalence a father can feel toward his own son; a frustrated man gets impatient when his child won't simply swim, and the moment of frustration has consequences that last for thirty or even forty years.

This isn't a plot-driven novel, but it's a novel where basically every page makes you say: "Yep, I recognize that. I've lived that, too."

And Tyler takes on Covid! Believe it or not, her insights on the pandemic are fresh and surprising, and they'll break your heart.
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