Liars and Saints

  Ann Patchett is well-read, and occasionally, in her new novel, she seems to be borrowing from Dickens. These moments are the highpoints of the novel. They involve Abigail, an aging mom, and her current husband, Ekker. Dickens understood that there is a place for amusing but "flat" characters. Static characters who catch your attention. Gargoyles. In Patchett's current work, Ekker is a failed writer of "positivity manuals." ("Bounce on your feet as you brush your teeth! Feel the blood start to flow through your body!") ....After the eighties positivity craze faded, Ekker began to flounder. Now, he is drowning in bitterness, determined to mount a comeback. He cannot hear anyone around him. His sole conversational subject is the series of steps needed for a publishing rebirth. His stepdaughter is a teacher--couldn't she include the positivity manuals on her syllabus? Abigail is similarly captivating. She insists on being included in a particular eve...

  As school wraps up, I'm thinking of my favorite commencement speech (a speech by Ann Patchett). Patchett recalls being an undergrad at Sarah Lawrence. She is utterly alone. She has traveled from Tennessee. She has no idea how to spend her time--so she decides to bake cookies for her advisor (who seems like a friendly person). This is--subtly--a metaphor for a writer's life. A writer (or any artist) is someone who feels a weird compulsion to make, make, make. Here, the story becomes something like a fable. Patchett assembles the cookies--but the oven doesn't work. Desperate, she wanders across the road, where she spots a fabulous house. And she asks the owner if she can borrow the oven. The owner happens to be the new president of the college, who has a small family. "And--because I spent time playing with the kids--I was invited back to babysit. And eventually (quickly) I helped to create a little tribe." On some level, Patchett had understood that a tribe was w...

  A bildungsroman is a coming-of-age story: "Stand by Me," or "Jim the Boy," or "David Copperfield," or "This Boy's Life." Women write these, too; I'm thinking of "Who Will Run the Frog Hospital," "Lives of Girls and Women," and Alice McDermott's "Someone." This is one way to understand Ann Patchett's new novel, "Tom Lake." A girl (Lara) volunteers to help at the desk for local "Our Town" auditions. She immediately recognizes that the prospective Emily Webbs are very, very bad; they "overcook" their lines. A vision of Emily occurs to Lara; soon, Lara is appearing on-stage. From this moment on, we watch as Lara makes various relatable mistakes. She betrays a close friend. She offers her body to a Broadway producer; she thinks this is what you have to do to score a role opposite Spalding Gray. Lara falls for a dazzling De Niro-esque star-on-the-rise, although she understand...

  I'm amazed by the mounds of stuff that grow, and grow, and grow, in this house. I wander from room to room, in search of the car key, the TV remote, the baby bottle, the puzzle pieces, the poop bags for the dog. If I were teaching a college course, I'd call it "The Literature of Stuff." I'd feature Ann Patchett's essays, which are often just about giving shit away. I'd call attention to Shirley Jackson, who wrote about trailing behind her son, putting his sneakers in the proper place, then his towel, his art supplies, his school books. I'd make room for Mary Laura Philpott, who sees her child's move to college as "a chance I get to reconnect with the clean surface of my dining-room table." An occupational therapist visits and invents a dizzying list of "must-haves": a special kind of puzzle, a certain type of tape that will alter a rocking chair in a "therapeutic way" (the tape lasts for two hours, tops). There must ...

  There are things I dislike about this town. COVID decimated the movie landscape; you have one theater, and it’s empty, and the options are BATMAN or DR. STRANGE. You won’t see Isabelle Huppert on a Maplewood screen. Also, a trip to a museum involves a substantial drive; the museum opens Friday through Sunday, only; light snowfall can ruin your plans. In this setting, a bookstore is crucial. And I think the store around the corner has kept me buoyant for the past two years. I think I’m not alone, among housewives, in having this response. Maplewood Words has a substantial children’s corner; you have a classics section, a wing for board books, and a “seasonal interest” table. Via Words, I’ve introduced my kids to Jerry Pinkney, to Tomie de Paola, and to Kevin Henkes. You’ll often overhear intriguing chats as you browse. “Did you like the last Harlan Coben? Then you’ll like this one.” “We’re closing early to make room for Ann Patchett...” “If you enjoy  fiction about food ....n...

  My family has reached its maximum size. My spouse and I have shipped our frozen embryos off to some special spot -- some spot they visit when they're no longer in cryostorage. The process was a human process, so it was comical. At one point, we discovered that we had been paying for a little vault of frozen sperm -- in addition to the frozen embryos. Frozen sperm? We were dismayed. Fifty dollars a month for that stuff? Those cells are truly a dime a dozen.  (I'm not always great at reading fine print.) We also needed participation from a notary public, so we trekked over to my local librarian, a friendly older South Orange resident, and we hummed nervously as she read about our little swimmers. Throughout the whole big process, certain questions were lobbed my way. Why have children? Why have two children so close together? If you must have children, why not adopt? I've read other people who take on these questions--and I'm seeing that the best answer is this.  It...

“The Peanuts Papers” will appear soon. It’s a selection of essays by heavy-hitting writers--e.g. Ann Patchett--on the art of Charles Schulz. NPR--a source I don’t consistently trust--says that the book is slightly “sweaty.” There is sometimes too much effort expended in trying to prove that “Peanuts” is profound--with references to Brecht, Chekhov, Kant, that sort of thing. Maybe. But it seems to me “Peanuts” can withstand comparisons to major literary works. (“‘Peanuts,’” says Ann Patchett, “taught me how to write.”) Loneliness, absurdity, religious searching, self-sabotage, love: These are weighty themes, and they are just as crucial to “Peanuts” as they are to “Uncle Vanya.” In a “trailer” for “The Great Pumpkin,” Linus becomes excited by a mountain of leaves, throws himself into the middle, then remembers he is carrying a treat. The moral: “Never jump into leaves when you’re holding a wet lollipop.” (And maybe try to keep an eye on your own impetuosity, in all scenarios.) T...

A secretary has very little power. Most of the power he, or she, wields...comes from wording and punctuation. Here is what I have learned. (1) A question mark is maybe a bad idea. Consider the difference between: "Can you please send this back to me?" AND "Can you please send this back to me." That period--instead of a question mark--is so stern! People snap into line! And people can't accuse you of being bossy or rude because you used "can you please..." Pretty magical. (2) Faux-cheeriness is generally a wise move. An email that ends with "thank you!" or "have a good day!" is smart, I feel. Unless the other person knows I'm really irritated, and then I suspect that he, or she, knows that a "thank you!" is fully disingenuous. (3) Including the recipient's name in the subject line is strangely flattering, and it might get you a speedy response. "To Peter -- Sept. 26..." How could you argue with that ...

Here is the thing that Ann Patchett does extraordinarily well. It's a contrarian thing. Writing about owning a dog, Patchett recalls all the people who approached her and said, "That's just a surrogate! You really are rehearsing for having a baby!" Coolly, Patchett observes, "This is incorrect." She leaves unstated: "Take your sexist laziness and shove it up your ass." There's a tension required for that kind of understatement--and the tension is the thing that keeps you glued to the page. How to get married: Make a mess of your first marriage. Find yourself shaking and permanently scarred. Next: Date a man for eleven years. Be sure he is fifteen years older than you. Insist that you will never, never marry. When your boyfriend has a life-threatening heart incident, find yourself getting married. In her new novel, "The Dutch House," Patchett has two main characters disinherited. They have access only to a trust-for-education. So...

(5) In the pretty good novel "The Wife," the narrator has a notable ending. She has just disclosed to us that her husband's life has been a lie, and that she is filled with rage (husband-directed rage). Then, paradoxically, she turns to her husband's awful biographer and says: "My husband earned all the greatness that came toward him. If you suggest otherwise, I'll sue." Or something like that. It's a strong ending, because the statement is ambiguous and tortured and ironic: The husband really earned little or nothing, and the wife knows this. But she can't vindicate herself, because too much is at stake. She was complicit in her husband's farce. She has to continue to save face, as much as it pains her. This is a very fine "button"; it makes us think of HRC and Bill Clinton, which is surely intentional. It also nicely encapsulates the anguish, the inner war, that *is* this character. Well done. In the movie, though, a scriptwrite...