Strangers: A Memoir of Marriage

If you could design my ideal reading experience, the book would look quite a bit like Belle Burden's "Strangers." This is like an enormous ice cream sundae -- overflowing. Marshmallow sauce, caramel sauce, little crushed bits of M and M. Burden -- a member of Grace Church School society -- endures an unusually brutal divorce. She happens to be a born writer -- so she digests and writes down every odd detail in the "after" years. She spares no one. Who could resist this book?

A note about Grace Church School society. Burden is weirdly coy about this school. She calls it "an episcopal school on Fourth Avenue," but this isn't the label I'd use. GCS is a "rich kid school." I guess it has an episcopal tradition? I do remember chapel sessions -- but in those times, we would talk about Hanukkah, Diwali, or the historical legacy of Ruby Bridges. Jesus was mostly absent from GCS -- and, surely, Burden is aware of this.

OK. The story. Burden marries a man with a profound mental illness. He is the hedge fund manager Henry Davis; he has no core. For approximately twenty years, he endures family life via "false self." He gives a performance. But, then, his mistress has a crisis; she attempts suicide. Completely incapable of using his words, Henry responds by just dropping his false self. He leaves the marriage, renounces custody of his children, and encourages his parents and siblings to sever contact with Belle. The bare bones of the story are not sensational -- we all know men who abandon their wives when the wives turn fifty. It's the abruptness of Henry Davis's behavior -- and the chilling bit about custody -- that makes Davis such a strange case.

Then -- the twist. Belle Burden happens to have a will of steel. She hadn't known this. She becomes something like an Edith Wharton character. (Edith Wharton did, in fact, write about Manhattan's Grace Church.) Like Ellen Olenska, Burden is not consistently interested in fitting in. She writes the true story of her divorce and publishes the story in the NYTimes. (Other Grace Church moms speculate that this is "just about revenge.") Burden takes note of the bizarre ways that the Grace Church dads seem to defend Henry Davis. "He's just playing hardball!" 'This could be a good change -- perhaps he has found the love of his life!" "Belle, you're fine. You're still young!" Burden records these moments. She records all of them.

In a tour de force ending, Burden concedes that she is writing for her children. She recalls the scenes in which male friends spot her at Grace -- and, instead of offering a kind word, these men simply turn away. Burden writes this to her kids: "I want you to know that, if someone is in pain, the right thing to do is to go and engage that person in conversation."

Yesterday, I wrote about seeing someone getting bullied on the train. I wish that I had approached that person and just said, "I overheard the discussion -- and the way that guy behaved wasn't right." It's easy not to say anything. We imagine that "her business is her business." But I remember moments when I have been in pain and someone has taken the time to make chitchat. In these moments, I have felt grateful.

I really loved Burden's book -- it's worthy of the hype.

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic. She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

Liars and Saints

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