“While armchair travelers dream of going places, traveling armchairs dream of staying put.”
Here is the book cover explained: Macon Leary is the traveling armchair, a reluctant writer of specific tourist guides for people who are reluctant to leave behind the known comforts of home [such as a Baltimore house in a good neighbourhood] and trade them for the unknown dangers of exotic cuisine, shady hotel rooms, foreign languages and wearisome ‘cultural’ discoveries.
Macon hated travel. He careened through foreign territories on a desperate kind of blitz – squinching his eyes shut and holding his breath and hanging on for dear life, he sometimes imagined – and then settled back home with a sigh of relief to produce his chunky, passport-sized paperbacks.
The man must make rent payments, no matter how much he despises the unknown. Macon Leary has played it safe for most of his life, carefully avoiding risks or emotional muddles. He may share in some secret gene from his father’s family, since both Macon and his three siblings (sister Rose and brothers Charles and Porter) are loners and misfits with weird household manners and curious conversation traits that focus on grammar errors in other’s speech.
“My God! How stodgy you’ve grown!” exclaims their own mother Alicia, a libertine and a careless butterfly who abandoned them early in childhood, dreading the prospect of a lifetime of Leary stodginess.
Macon’s own wife Sarah is leaving him in the opening chapter of the novel, facing her own existential crisis and a marriage on the rocks after the death of their little son in one of those terrible American tragedies: as a bystander in a mass shooting.
Sarah is reproaching Macon for his aloofness, for his insistence that life should go on on the pre-established tracks, for his inability to express his grief.
“You’re so quick to be sensible, Macon, that you’ve given up on just about everything.”
This was a rather downbeat start to the story, compounded by the fact that Macon is a rather unpleasant and uninspiring lead character. Curiously, his very inability to live by himself in an empty house and his insistence on establishing ‘crazy’ rules for sleeping, eating and washing are the items that made me keep reading.
I’m glad I stuck to the story, because usually I steer away from movies and books marketed as tragic-comedies. ‘Pick one!’ is my instinctive reaction, because it’s so difficult to reconcile the two opposite emotions, to hit on the right tone and be consistent and balanced. It takes a really good author to make me reconsider, and my first book from Anne Tyler is a prime example that it can be done. There’s a relevant Alan Moore quote that will serve as an aspirational goal to other writers here:
“My experience of life is that it is not divided up into genres; it’s a horrifying, romantic, tragic, comical, science-fiction cowboy detective novel. You know, with a bit of pornography if you're lucky.”
Macon on his own, even with help from Rose and his brothers when he moves in with them after an absurd accident in his own cellar, is not enough to fill the whole book with interesting developments. After all, his shtick is that he is predictable and adverse to change. He needs a catalyst, a sort of emotional storm to force him to leave his armchair and travel into a different life.
Macon’s salvation comes through his deceased son’s pet dog [and why would someone name his dog Edward, by the way? not even Eddy?] . Edward is a sort of repository of his new master’s restlessness and rage against fate: he barks fiercely at everybody, attacks even family members and refuses to listen to instructions. Macon is hard pressed to find a shelter that would accept Edward when he has to go on one of his research trips.
“Biters, barkers, deaf dogs, timid dogs, dogs that haven’t been treated right, dogs that have learned bad habits, dogs that grew up in pet shops and don’t trust human beings ... I can handle all of those.”
Enters Muriel Pritchett, a sort of freelance dog trainer, that latches onto Macon rather abruptly, like a limpet to a sea-shore boulder. She is everything Macon is not: almost effervescent with energy and gregarious, impervious to subtlety and nuance, a wild dresser, coarse and unpredictable and endearing. The novel definitely takes a turn for the better once Muriel enters the Leary mansion.
“Imagine a flamenco dancer with galloping consumption,” Rose told Charles and Porter. “That’s Edward’s trainer. She talks non-stop. I don’t know when she comes up for air.”
And she talked so much – almost ceaselessly; while Macon was the kind of man to whom silence was better than music. (“Listen! They’re playing my song,” he used to say when Sarah switched the radio off.)
Muriel has a much better success with training Edward to behave than with Macon, but her inexhaustible good cheer finally pays off and she drags him, almost kicking and screaming, to her rundown apartment in a wilder part of Baltimore (Singleton Street).
Macon is definitely tempted, especially as he discovers that Muriel is as vulnerable and insecure as the rest of us, raising a child on her own through odd jobs. But he has his own problems with commitment, with expressing his inner feelings, with striking out into a new life when the possibility of a return to his wife Sarah is still an option. Even his growing attachment for young Alexander, a boy with his own heavy baggage of personal issues, is not enough to sway the reluctant traveler to switch armchairs.
It occurred to him (not for the first time) that the world was divided sharply down the middle: Some lived careful lives and some lived careless lives, and everything that happened could be explained by the difference between them.
Most of the second half of the novel deals with this question of opposite personalities: do they complement each other? or is it better to stick to your own kind and play it safe? Macon’s dilemma is mirrored in part by a love affair between his middle-aged sister Rose and his publisher Julian, another case of different people trying to make a life together and see-sawing between hilarity and pathos.
“You think you can just drift along like this, day by day, no plans,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll just be here, maybe you won’t.”
Muriel has had her own share of quiters and drifters, so she is willing to give Macon a chance but not to wait for ever and a day for him to commit. The resolution will not be revealed until the last page, another clever trick from this talented writer to keep you reading. Whatever Macon decides, old armchair or life of Singleton Street, we do feel we have learned something from our travels: you have to fight for what you believe in, and it’s worth it despite all the times you fall down on your a$$.
She meant, he supposed, to give him the best of her. And so she had. But the best of her was not that child’s Shirley Temple hairdo. It was her fierceness – her spiky, pugnacious fierceness as she fought her way toward the camera with her chin set awry and her eyes bright slits of determination.
“I’m talking about the, you know, the world we’d be bringing him into. So much evil and danger. I admit it: I’d be frantic any time we let him out on the street.”
[...]
“Oh, well, you’re right,” he said. “Though really it’s kind of ... heartening, isn’t it? How most human beings do try. How they try to be as responsible and kind as they can manage.”
I expect I will be reading more from Anne Tyler in the future.