5★
“ ‘Something’s happened’ I said, aloud, for the first time.’“It’s my brother.’ ”
This should be a terribly depressing book, but it seems to be written with such affection for the characters who all loved each other, that I cared about them and the places they went. Lots of walks, seeing scenery that included mushrooms, “those extraordinary zigzags of brown crescents wending their way up the bark of the older trees like staircases for the Lilliputians.”
We’re introduced to two generations of a family dealing with anxiety and depression (“the monster”, as the father calls it:)
“the monster has its funnel driven into the back of your head and is sucking the light coming through your eyes straight out of you into the mouth of oblivion.”
This is a close-knit family, but not so closely knit that everything always holds together. Bits unravel here and there as individuals try to break free of the demands of caring for the people they love but who wear them out. They each have their own ways of antagonising the others . . . but also of caring deeply and looking after them.
Each chapter is told by one member: John and Margaret, the parents of Michael, Celia and Alec.
Margaret is a young American working in England and dating the very British John. They plan to marry, but then “John’s clock began to run more slowly.” He winds down and refrains from his usual animated discussions about current affairs. While she’s away visiting her parents in the States, John ends up in hospital, apparently not for the first time. John’s father simply tells her, “We were rather hoping all this business was done with. His mother finds it most unpleasant.”
There is a point later in the book where John has come home from work and she knows he’s worried.
“He needs to be asked. He won’t talk about it of his own accord. He imagines that if he can contain it inside himself its resolution will be contained as well. That everything will work out—his upbringing distilled into a superstition.”
And that says it all about his background. Don’t talk about it, and maybe it will go away.
But it doesn’t. It comes and goes, Margaret’s exhausted with three kids and also because John’s exhausted, since that’s what depression does. Michael is particularly trying.
He’s an articulate, difficult young teen (probably “on the spectrum” we might say today), who talks about and collects music. Insightful and bright beyond his years, he is also extremely needy. Actually they are all needy, but Michael’s seems to be a more in-your-face I-NEED-YOU-NOW-OR-ELSE kind of needy.
When they take a cruise ship back to England, Michael writes a detailed diary of the voyage, where all the passengers were greased up, chained in irons and sold as slaves at ports along the way. This fantasy introduces both his imagination and his obsessive theory that there is a universal black memory of the slave trade that haunts and affects today’s black society and music. A permanent, genetic haunting that nobody’s acknowledging except him.
He also becomes obsessed with black people and certain kinds of music, and I admit I became as exasperated with all these esoteric (to me) musical references as almost everyone in his life is. As an adult, he makes mix tapes, is a DJ, writes music reviews, but smothers the people he loves and fixates on. He catalogues his various medications, but when he’s down, he relies on his family and exes to talk him through it for hours.
Each member of the family is a strong character, and I was taken with the fact that all the voices are quite different. I don’t recall ever trying to remember whose story I was reading. We might think we know what WE would do in their circumstances, but when we see Celia, for example, as an adult in San Francisco talking on the phone to one of the others, we watching her slip back into family mode, as most of us do. Perfectly done.
And as John says about his daughter
“I’m momentarily astonished at her existence—this child of mine. How narrowly we all avoid never having been. . . as though, if I am not careful between here and the parking lot, I might go astray and she will be canceled, stolen back by not-being, like a thief grabbing her through an open window.”
John used to play “Imagine Me Gone” with his kids – get them out in a boat, stop the engine, and pretend to nap, telling them they had to figure out how to get them all home. Suddenly he is imagining - What if?
Michael is the most annoying character, but he is also so smart and sardonic and funny in his way, and the others have such strong stories of their own, that it’s a very satisfying book.
I really loved it. Many thanks to NetGalley and Little, Brown, and Company for a copy to review. All quotations are from the review copy and subject to change.