I like to read first published novels by authors, so when my reading group, comprised primarily of women, chose Loving Frank, I was looking forward to it. It didn't disappoint me. I enjoyed the narrative flow, which was smooth and calm as a river, even when it had exciting rapids. The story arced like a rainbow and climaxed like 24. It didn't seem written by a novice. I would say, "Great job, Nancy Horan."
Early in marriage, my wife and I moved from the West to the Midwest. We had lived a sheltered life. We had both graduated with Bachelor of Arts degrees and were beginning careers. Our employer trained us in downtown Chicago. We had an infant daughter and needed someone to care for her daytimes while we went to the Loop. Fortunately, my wife's uncle and aunt lived in a suburb, so we lodged in a motel nearby and Aunt Mary graciously took care of our daughter.
I recall becoming acquainted with Frank Lloyd Wright and Oak Park, a Chicago neighborhood, about that time. I believe we drove through Oak Park, where he built his first home. Perhaps we even saw the house. This was in the 1970s, well after the time of Mamah's story. The complexion of society had changed. Anyway, the experience with Wright made my reading of this book more compelling. I had not realized Wright's character flaws before. I only knew of his architectural genius. Of course, I knew nothing of Mamah Borthwick. She was a complete unknown. I also knew nothing of Wright's family life.
Mamah Borthwick, the protagonist, is the classical tragic character. It is odd how one as gifted as Wright was artistically and architecturally could screw up life with his family and his lover so much. If Mamah is the protagonist, and she is, Wright is far and away the antagonist, although not the only one. Selfishness hangs right in there, too.
Mamah is a dupe, and Wright is a manipulator and a narcissist. The reason I believe Mamah comes across as a fool is because of some of the stupid thing she says and does. In her married life, a nanny cares for her kids. When Mamah has them alone on a train and one becomes ill, she's clueless what to do, wondering what her nanny would do with the child. And this is feminism? Ignorant? Incompetent?
She abandons her children when they need her most so she can become a mistress to Frank Floyd Wright. "I am putty in your hands, so quickly," she says. In other words, she's infatuated, drunken with passion, but not deeply in love. Not committed. She tells her kids, "I'm going on a small vacation [that lasts two years]…just for me." Uh huh. And who was that other guy with you on vacation? Her decision is, in her estimation, not "cruel self-indulgence" but "love for life." The children will be better off with happy parents, i.e. with a selfish mother.
Besides everything else, Mamah's husband, Edwin, is simply a terrific guy. Given the choice--and perhaps a sex-change operation-- I wouldn't have minded marrying him myself. And then, given the life of leisure his profession afforded, I'd indulge my feminist whims. Mamah's feminism certainly didn't seem enhanced or facilitated by Frank.
She supposedly loved Frank with every "cell in her body." Hmmm. I wonder. She threatens to leave him if he doesn't change. Yet doesn't he mold her just the way he wants her? Frank tells her she makes him "want to be a better man," but all the while he remains deceitful and arrogant, manipulating and lording it over people that work for him, people for whom he works, and his family.
When my wife and I left the West and our family roots for Illinois, we said goodbye to a sheltered existence for one out there, more enlightened and more free. We made the trip together, with our daughter. While it was frowned upon where we came from for a mother to work and to leave a child with a babysitter in order to pursue work, my wife did so, not altogether happy about it. And I think all of us, including my daughter profited by it. Loving Frank is a book that posits infatuation and self-love over against enduring, sacrificial love. No matter the era, in my estimation, the stamina to stay wins out over caprice and whimsy. Enduring love trumps infatuation and lust.
Fling or family? "Putty in your hands" doesn't seem very feminist to me.
I enjoyed reading and thinking about this a lot.