Connecting with "Mrs. Bridge"

The Fab 5 met tonight to discuss and dissect the life and times of Mrs. Bridge, the subject of the novel by the same name by Evan S. Connell published in 1959. This choice was my doing; I’ve been interested in reading the book for quite a while. Many years ago there was a Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward made-for-TV miniseries called Mr. and Mrs. Bridge (see photo to the right), based on this book and its companion, Mr. Bridge. I don’t remember being bowled over by it, other than I enjoyed seeing them act together, but I always wondered what the big deal was about the book. Since I’ve owned the book forever but haven’t taken time to read it, as I am wont to do I brought it to book club to inflict it on them so that I would read it too.

Mrs. Bridge is the wife of a wealthy lawyer and the mother of three children living the country club life in Kansas City just before World War II. Time is passing her by—her kids are getting older, the world is changing around her, but she stays just the same.

Tentative and polite to a fault, Mrs. Bridge (her real name is India, but she’s never felt it fits) has a complicated inner life, a life of quiet desperation, which rarely makes its way out of her brain. While she wishes to improve herself, she never can quite finish her projects--learning Spanish, doing charity work, improving her vocabulary.

World issues, politics, philosophy, art…all of these things interest her a bit, but she doesn’t feel qualified to offer opinions on any of them. She defers to her husband’s opinions, as well as his wishes on just about everything. She is uncomfortable with anything different, which includes people different from herself. Anyone of any noticeable ethnicity seems to be disturbing to her, in a ethnocentricity that goes beyond black/white race relations of the time.

She would’ve been a little concerned at the way we attacked the Mexican food we had for dinner. Far too ethnic, I think, and who knows what rules of good manners we were breaking, dipping our chips into take-out bowls of queso.

Mrs. Bridge is lonely and bored. She has everything she could ever want, including a maid to do all the domestic chores, but she has no one to feel really close to. Her husband works all hours to provide all the material goods they could want, but he offers no real companionship. Her children are rapidly outgrowing their desire to be anywhere near their old-fashioned and oddly unworldly mother. She has very limited ideas of everything, from manners to sexuality. When a friend commits suicide, she tells her grown children that the woman had eaten some tuna that had been left out overnight. When a cousin has a baby three months after her wedding, Mrs. Bridge mentions that first babies are so often premature. Since “appearances” are all that really matter to her, she never faces most of reality.

Sonya was so caught up in Mrs. Bridge that she immediately went out to buy Mr. Bridge and read it too. But of course we wouldn’t let her tell us about it, because we might read it too. Which made discussion rather difficult for poor Sonya tonight, because she couldn’t possibly discuss the book as if she were uninformed of Mr. Bridge’s side of the story.

We debated if Mrs. Bridge’s inability to do anything is because she is a product of her time or because her husband’s dismissive attitude made her to hesitant to make a move. In the end, though, it’s hard for a millennial woman to understand her. On the other hand, there are some very universal things, like the distance she feels from her children as they become independent adults. Or her fears about how the future is dark, that the world might just fall apart around her.

Connell’s writing is very unusual. Each chapter is a tiny scene in Mrs. Bridge’s life, and, especially in the beginning, it’s difficult to see where it might be going. But eventually all of these vignettes weave into a full portrait of a woman living half a life. He describes things so well. At one point, she has read a political book and decides she will vote differently this time around. She never gets around to talking to Mr. Bridge about the book, so she figures that for once they will each vote their own way. But on the way, she starts to feel doubtful about her choice. “And when the moment finally came she pulled the lever recording her wish for the world to remain as it was.”

While she is floundering in boredom and desperation, we wonder what her problem is. Why not take classes, or volunteer, or take over the baking, or whatever? A long time ago we read I Don’t Know How She Does It, which was the opposite—a woman who was killing herself “having it all”—children, husband, career. We’re looking for a happy medium—not too busy, not too leisurely. We can only hope our stories will end more happily!

Getting Serious with "Sure Signs of Crazy"

Sometimes trying to describe a book succinctly does it a real disservice, because the story itself is hard to encapsulate well. I’m risking that by giving a short description, but here goes.

In Sure Signs of Crazy, 12-year-old Sarah Nelson and her alcoholic father have moved from town to town in Texas throughout her young life. She usually spends summers with her grandparents, but is hoping for something different this summer. She is growing up, though no one seems to recognize it. She loves words and plants, and she is obsessed with Atticus Finch of To Kill a Mockingbird (that was enough to win me over all by itself).

But looming large over everything else is the fact that her mother is in a mental hospital as a result of her attempt to drown Sarah when she was only two years old, and she succeeded in drowning Sarah’s twin brother. Sarah is haunted by the thought that she too could be headed down the road to mental illness, and she searches herself for signs.

Author Karen Harrington either kept excellent notes during her own experience of this age or she has observed others very closely; she completely nails what it is to be a girl on the edge of adolescence. Sarah wants so badly to be taken seriously by those older than her, and at the same time she wants to be taken care of by her father in the way that any child deserves.

When I first looked at the book, I thought that this was an odd choice of storylines for young people, and I thought that people living with mental illness should not be something that you fear--even the use of the word "crazy" seems immediately pejorative. Somehow the author walks that dangerous line successfully. Part of the reason for that is that it's from the perspective of a traumatized girl, and that is probably how she would describe her mother.

While this novel deals with some pretty heavy-hitting events, it does so with a gentle touch and an honest love for all of the characters. The publisher lists this as a novel for ages 9 and up—I’d bump that minimum age up to mature 12-year-olds. But I’m living proof the book isn’t limited to the children’s market--I couldn't put it down.

The Lifeboat: Save It or Throw It Overboard?

Well, after an unintentional year-long sabbatical, thought it might be time to get back at it. I have no excuse to offer as to why I’ve stopped blogging; I haven’t stopped reading!

The Fab 5 Book Club has not stopped reading either. Tonight we tackled The Lifeboat by Charlotte Rogan. Before we get started, you need to understand that the Fab 5, while being a very chatty crowd, does not always stay on topic very well. Also you need to understand that we don’t all always come terribly prepared.

Tonight was a different story. Everyone had finished the book, even the one who started it last night at 5 and finished it around midnight (Hint: This was not me, at least not this time). It’s a fairly quick read, which is always helpful in last-minute cramming. And Nancy was very eager to get started, trying to come up with some less-than-obvious segues from the food we were noshing to the plot of the book, things like “I bet they wished they had cheese like this on the lifeboat.”

And finally we gave in and actually talked about the book. The Lifeboat is a story about just what it sounds like, a lifeboat. The Empress Alexandra, a fictional ocean liner crossing the Atlantic just 2 years after the Titanic disaster, sinks in open water, and passengers scramble to get onto lifeboats. Grace, a new bride, is pushed onto a lifeboat by her husband, and the story begins. Thirty-nine people set off in a lifeboat, only to be lost at sea for 21 grueling days.

At the start of the book, Grace has survived the lifeboat and now finds herself facing a new obstacle: she is standing trial. She writes a diary of her experiences for her lawyers.

Grace is an enigmatic character, presenting readers with lots of ethical and moral questions. But while this might seem to be a book based on the old ethics question of the lifeboat—a lifeboat has too many people, so you must find a rational way to decide who should go overboard—it really turns out to be something different. As Grace goes through the process of recollection, trying to bring to the surface moments that she cannot easily remember, readers find no easy understanding of her fellow passengers’ actions. Nor can we get a handle on Grace herself. So rather than asking what we would do in their situation, we spent a lot of time trying to understand who did what and why.

Interestingly, three of the four of us read this book with one or two other stories in the back of our minds, influencing what we read. Sonya had the movie Titanic in her head, which made her suspicious of Grace’s husband’s actions before the boat sank. Nancy couldn’t help but think of our recent read Gone Girl, in which a woman’s diary takes on a different significance as the book goes on. I had shadows of Margaret Atwood’s Alias Grace, in which the main character has been accused of murder but you really have no idea if she is guilty or not, or what guilt even means. Also Life of Pi loomed large in the lifeboat imagination.

This may be the longest period of time we’ve ever spent talking about a book at book club, which is all the more surprising since each of us expressed some degree of disappointment with the book. There are many, many threads and clues—or red herrings, as the case may be—that lead us nowhere, and none of us were terribly satisfied with that. Grace says straight out that we can’t know everything, but that did nothing to quell our dissatisfaction. We spent a bit of time talking about whether a book (or other form of entertainment) should tie up most or all loose ends, or if that is also unsatisfying. It seems there is some middle ground, Chekhov’s gun notwithstanding.

It may be that my own dissatisfaction with the ending had less to do with the book itself and more to do with the fact that I was reading it electronically, and the end came even though there were still 30 more digital pages to go—acknowledgements, suggested reading, endorsements, reading group guide, etc. etc. And here I thought there was still more to the story.

Of course we did get a bit off topic, debating which people we might be okay with pushing overboard and discussing the fact that all of us would probably die within the first few days because we are, well, soft. Barbara mentioned the day that she had a paper cut on the tip of her finger, and her day was an anguish of alternating between typing with a band-aid on, which made for many typing errors, and typing without a band-aid, which “really hurt.” I scoffed at the idea of needing a trailer to go camping, then remembered that the threat of a rainstorm sends me from my tent to the nearest hotel. Don’t think any of us would do too well in boot camp, let alone any real human deprivation.

But no deprivation was happening here, as we passed around the dark chocolate sea salt caramels. Final judgment: The Lifeboat had some saving graces, but you don't really want to stay in it forever.

Saving Lives and Eating Apple Crisp

How do you grieve the loss of a loved one? In How to Save a Life, a young adult novel by Sara Zarr, high school senior Jill is mourning the recent loss of her father. But her immediate problem is that her mother has decided to adopt a baby from a pregnant teen they’ve never met. And that teen is coming to live with them.

Eleven Neland ladies showed up tonight to talk about it. Everyone had opinions, and they were not always in agreement. That’s the sign of a good book club discussion! Some of us liked Jill; some of us didn’t. Some of us liked Mandy, the pregnant teen; some of us didn’t. Some of us found different circumstances realistic; some of us didn’t. But we all agreed that the book draws you in from the first page, and you need to know what happens. And Helen didn’t even read the end ahead of time, which I think was high praise.

Mandy is the product of a sad upbringing, and she has some quirks. One of the disagreements we had was whether or not a young woman with her lack of role models could turn out to be sort of naïve, not overly self-protective. A couple of us thought of examples of people who came from horrible circumstances and still managed to hold onto a sort of innocence, but it is not perceived to be the norm.

Jill seems to some to be too sarcastic; her goth façade is not appealing to others. Still more of us just see the grief that fuels her anger. Alice lost her father at the age of 13, and she couldn’t relate to Jill’s anger. A few of us with teens in our houses could relate to a child who doesn’t really want to share what’s happening in their life. But Sue pointed out that at the beginning of the story, you think you know who Jill and Mandy are. And over the course of the book, you find out who they really are. That’s a pretty nice compliment to a character-driven novel.

Dylan and Ravi, the two love interests in the book, are possibly the nicest two teen males we’ve ever “met.” Understanding, kind, perceptive. They put up with everything and help the women to find their better selves. This is where the book might be putting a toe or two over the line into fantasy, but we’re down with it.

We also talked briefly about the sexual activity of the two female protagonists. Do we, as adults, feel like this is appropriate for the intended teen girl audience? Zarr herself said in an interview with The Williams Telos that she “never wanted to wind up in a position where I was being asked to soft-pedal the adolescent experience.” A couple of moms in the group agreed that you have to be real with your teens—“you know what we think; this is someone else’s perspective, and we don’t need to be afraid to hear what other people say.”

Julie, our resident expert on Denver, verified that Casa Bonita was the perfect restaurant for Mandy’s party. But the talk of “Margins” bookstore in the book just made us wish we could go to The Tattered Cover. If you know Denver, you know what we mean.

Because I led the meeting this month, and because I am sort of a Sara Zarr fan (verging slightly on groupie), I had to take the opportunity to tell everyone about Once Was Lost, Zarr’s book previous to this one and one of my favorites. It is such a wonderful story. Go read it now, if you enjoy young adult lit. But I digress.

Why is it called How to Save a Life? We could think of many whose lives were saved. But the prevailing way to do so seemed to be to trust. Mandy and Jill had to have enough trust in those who loved them to open up and share what was going on.

We eventually had to quit talking because Helen had brought some apple crisp that was calling to us. Oh so worth it. It might not save a life, but it sure makes it better.

Judiciously Recommending "The Dog Stars"

Here's a new novel for all you post-apocalyptic fiction fans. Yes, I realize that this is becoming a rather saturated segment of the book market, but bear with me. In this one, there is no capital, there is no arena. No aliens, no districts. There is just a broken world. And it’s definitely not written for the young adult market.

The Dog Stars, by Peter Heller, is set in the not-at-all-distant future. A flu pandemic wiped out most of the population 10 years earlier, but Hig has survived it. Global warming is also on the rise, so some of the natural world around him is dying and changing. Hig and another survivor, a crusty older man named Bangley, live on a makeshift compound at an airstrip in Colorado. Together they have created a perimeter to keep roaming survivors, who are all considered armed and dangerous, out of their territory. Hig also still has his dog, Jasper, who gives him the companionship he so desperately needs since the death of his wife and just about everyone else.

There is an element of bleakness in this novel, particularly in the horrors that people perpetrate on each other in the wake of the disaster, that mirrors The Road by Cormac McCarthy. However, Heller is, among other things, a writer for Outside Magazine and National Geographic Adventure, and his love for nature and the outdoors is evident. Amidst the grim survivalism of the story, Hig makes his way into the mountains, ostensibly to fish and hunt, but mostly to surround himself with beauty and ease his sorrow. Heller’s description of the natural world is lovely, and Hig’s situation is sometimes achingly real to the reader—he is still alive and he still has a desire to live; he is a man of constant sorrow, but he still seeks and recognizes beauty.

There are a couple of gruesome moments, understandable given the situation that the character is in, as well as some language that makes me hesitate to recommend the book to just anyone. There are also a couple of moments where you must suspend disbelief—it seemed he needed to solve a problem or two with the plot. Furthermore, aspects of the storyline read like male fantasy to me. Yet I loved reading it, and I gave it to my husband to read almost immediately because I knew he would love it too. Neither of us could put it down.

The Dog Stars depicts a man caught in the valley of death, unable to give up on hope and beauty.

Learning "The Language of Flowers"

Victoria spent much of her life in foster care, until Elisabeth. Elisabeth was determined to make this volatile young woman her daughter. Then something happened that ended the relationship, but we don’t know what. Now Victoria is turning 18 and is aging out of the group home she’s been living in.
What do you do when you are alone in the world with nothing to your name, expected to somehow create a life for yourself? Victoria turns to the only thing she knows or cares about—flowers.

Elisabeth taught her the “language of flowers”—the meaning that Victorian lovers assigned to flowers as they used them in covert communication. Victoria uses her knowledge of flowers to find her first job, and she sends messages with flowers even though she knows that no one will get the message. But then someone does.

The Fab 5 read The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh, and we couldn’t put it down. We really liked the characters, and the whole flower thing is pretty intriguing. The author has had foster children, and she has some idea of what it takes to love a child who has been hurt and traumatized. She also knows a great deal about the foster care system, something we don’t know enough about. There is some mystery about Victoria’s history, and as a reader I was drawn into the story.

But it did seem to us that perhaps she created a sort of composite character, combining the stories of lots of people, because it seemed difficult to believe that all of Victoria’s history could happen to one child. This did not stop us from appreciating and enjoying the novel.

There was one portion of the story that Nancy felt dragged a bit, regarding a new mother who suffers through a difficult period of nursing a baby. You can refer to my last post to remind yourself that some children truly are slow nursers, and it can feel like forever. So we were not all in agreement on that point.

We were all in agreement on one issue—the story wraps up a little too neatly and quickly. Yet we were all satisfied by it, even though we knew we probably shouldn’t be.

Neland ladies get down and dirty with "The Dirty Life"

In the memoir, The Dirty Life, by Kristin Kimball, a young, single Manhattanite journalist interviews an organic farmer, and they fall in love. Somehow she finds herself moving from her SoHo apartment into heavy labor on a farm that uses horses instead of tractors. That transformation is as amazing to her as it is to the reader.

The Neland women had an evening of memories talking about this book. For one thing, we found out that at least three of the dozen or so women there had grown up on farms, and many more had grown up in farm towns or had relatives with farms. I, on the other hand, have basically zero connection to the soil. I did visit a pig farm once in high school, which was a very educational moment for this city girl. This disconnect may be why my garden beans look so poorly, and it may explain a few of the shudders that came over me as I read the book.

Actually I really liked it, and so did the rest of the group. Kristin and, more to the point, her eventual husband Mark, were very ambitious. They decided to begin a new community organic farm that was sustainable and which would provide everything the members needed—milk, eggs, meat, flour, veggies, fruit, etc.  Many of us use or have tried CSA shares of farms. I just have one question--if you have to spend so much time educating people on what to do with kale because they don't really like it, why grow so much of it? But I digress.

We all got tired just reading about farming—milking cows, weeding row upon row of vegetables, tapping the sugar bush. They would fall into bed at the end of long days of work—ew—without energy for a shower.

Alice remembered milking cows every day and the sort of rhythmic comfort that you could take in the routine. She also wondered how it could possibly take 2 hours to milk one cow. Rebecca and I, who have mothered slow nursers, just nodded knowingly.

Those who know about such things talked about the dirt and the smell of a farm, how hard they are to get rid of. They also talked about how good fresh vegetables and milk taste. Some found it hard to change to store-bought milk; others didn’t seem to notice the difference.

Deanna remembered moving onto a farm in late middle school, and going through the same adjustment from city to farm with mixed feelings and completely new experiences.

All of us had some feeling that Mark would be a difficult man to be married to. He seemed very rigid, like things must be the way he envisions them. No one seemed to think they could live for any period of time with a composting toilet in the middle of a shabby apartment.

But, on the other hand, the man could cook. And Kristin could write about cooking. The combination made me think that even I might try a tasty liver. But never—seriously—a cow heart or, ahem, "prairie oysters." Nuh-uh. And Holly pointed out that there are moments where he capitulates to Kristin’s wishes immediately and with no questions asked. They seem perfect for each other.

We laughed about the idealization of her newfound love at the beginning of the book, where she wished that every woman might have the chance to be with a man who has never smoked, gotten drunk, or slept around. That doesn’t seem like such a lofty goal to the many of us who are married to such men.

But for all the laughter, Kimball writes beautifully. She uses lovely metaphors that bring you right into the farm. And the wedding, which seems such a crazy affair, is something I would love to go to someday. Mark has a vision for farming that takes in the sacredness of creation and the relationship of humans to the earth. The book and Kimball's writing made the dirty life seem like something to dream of and strive for, helping us reconnect with some of our agricultural pasts.