From "Putting Things Away" to "The Marriage Almanac" (not to mention the pedantic "Index," in itself a comic wonder), Stanley Crawford gives the married, the unmarried, and the formerly married a classic satire on all the sanctimonious marriage manuals ever produced. Starting with the complete title, "Some Instructions to My Wife Concerning the Upkeep of the House and Marriage, and to My Son and Daughter Concerning the Conduct of Their Childhood," a boorish narrator sets down some seventy-three pieces of advice to his wife, young son, and two-year-old daughter, intended to foster and maintain domestic tranquility in an age of anxiety. Taken literally, our neo-Victorian head of the house is a male chauvinist pig of sorts, but what reader would deny that the sources of Crawford's satire run deep in the American grain?
Crawford is the author of "Gascoyne," "Petroleum Man," "Log of the S.S. The Mrs Unguentine," "A Garlic Testament: Seasons on a Small New Mexico Farm," "Mayordomo: Chronicle of an Acequia in Northern New Mexico," "The River in Winter," and "Some Instructions to My Wife Concerning the Upkeep of the House and Marriage and to my Son and Daughter Concerning the Conduct of their Childhood." He lives in new Mexico with his wife, RoseMary, where they own and run a garlic farm.
A pastiche of Victorian domestic manuals as a satire-of-sorts for prim-and-proper American attitudes to hearth and home. The execution is flawless but sinks into boringness due to its adherence to the arch patriarchal voice.
Mordant and uproarious, hysterically obsessive, cold as death and close to home. Rarely have such imperturbable pretensions to omniscience been so resoundingly vacuous. How bad/good is it? The Perfectest Husband on Planet America has kindly deigned to provide scripts and schedules and lists and diagrams for every imaginable element of domestic life (and death!), a meticulousness so rarefied it would require legions of lackeys to inflict the type of order herein detailed unto derangement which he pretends his wife alone can accomplish... and yet, he cannot omit to instruct her that dishes are best washed in hot water!?! As in, "Please have a time machine ready for me in the morning, here is your abacus, should your woeful incompetence need anything more I suggest you bring your sewing kit, chop chop!" The book is a cornucopia of false analogies, delusion, and duplicity. It will have served its benignant and benighted purpose if it gives the reader (especially male) due pause before ever again suggesting anything to or expecting anything from their significant other. It's quite short and can be quickly read, but if you take breaks you can sustain the glee of encountering the absurdities afresh. For example, in the Index under the heading MARRIAGE:
animals of building the buildup of pollens in the burning down the clothes of the condition of the daily pregnancy of the displaying to the public eye ecologically sound eyelids of the fences of the fruits and vegetables of the fuels of the future of the flashing eyes of the garden of geese of the goats of the hat brim of the house of ideal joint partners of the language of the as monument others' power failure within quadrifocal-stereoscopic vision second and third helpings textures of the threats to the integrity of the tools of true wealth of a upholstery of the vehicles of weather of the weeds of
A winning conceit stumbled in its execution which was, generously, mid. Suffers from a muddled narrative point of view. Is this a joke? Is it head on? Both? Not written will enough to deliver on the ambition. Meh
This book has more premise than plot, and while it is funny, I also found it a bit tedious. Because there is really no "story" to speak of, the tension in the book comes from the reader attempting to see through the tightly controlled surface of the book, and in a sense, create the story for yourself. The book as a whole can be viewed as a metaphor for another type of book--Revolutionary Road, say--which perhaps is just too painful a story for the narrator to address directly.
While I think I learned a lot from reading this book about narrative, I'm not sure I really enjoyed it.
Bought with high hopes, but did not find it particularly interesting. Have yet to finish it. Began it in 1984 (or thereabouts). May try it again if I hear it calling my name one day - I haven't sent it to the used book shops, so... you never know.
Notice how similar the cover is to Notable American Women, and note that this wonderfully sad joke of a book by Mr. Crawford was recommended by Mr. Marcus.
I like to think I am a better wife from having read this book. I will certainly read it to my children in the hope that they will grow to be better sons and daughters.