What's for Dinner?

by James Schuyler, James McCourt (Afterword)

James Schuyler's utterly original What's for Dinner? features a cast of characters who appear to have escaped from a Norman Rockwell painting to run amok. In tones that are variously droll, deadpan, and lyrical, Schuyler tells a story that revolves around three small-town American households. The Delehanteys are an old-fashioned Catholic family whose twin teenage boys are getting completely out of hand, no matter that their father is hardly one to spare the rod. Childless Norris and Lottie Taylor have been happily married for years, even as Lottie has been slowly drinking herself to death. Mag, a recent widow, is on the prowl for love. Retreating to an institution to dry out, Lottie finds herself caught up in a curious comedy of group therapy manners. At the same time, however, she begins an ascent from the depths of despair—illuminated with the odd grace and humor that readers of Schuyler's masterful poetry know so well—to a new understanding, that will turn her into an improbable redeemer within an unlikely world.

What's for Dinner? is among the most delightful and unusual works of American literature. Charming and dark, off-kilter but pedestrian, mercurial yet matter-of-fact, Schuyler's novel is an alluring invention that captures both the fragility and the tenacity of ordinary life.

Genres: Fiction, Classics, 20th Century, American, Comedy, Literature, Novels

211 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1978

Reviews

[David · Rating 3 out of 5]

Well, it started out promising anyway. Snappy, occasionally insightful, droll—with an ear for the rhythms and interplay of language (and dialogue, in particular) that called to mind Delillo, however approximately. But long about half-way through, I realized this thing was on the fast track to nowhere. It's all well and good to spruce up the language—fluff it like droopy pillows on a sofa—but sometimes you need more than just decoration. What's for Dinner? treads the same suburban dysfunction terrain that's so de rigueur these days. Alcoholic wife, libidinous widow, ruthless patriarch, saucy granny, and two lumbering, pot-smoking twins who jack each other off at night. Just connect the dots. The pivot point, I guess, is the alcoholic wife, Lottie Taylor, who ships herself off to a clinic (the back cover calls it an 'institution') to get a handle on her drinking so that she can resume her petty suburban life of dusting her knick knacks and drinking tea with her neighbors. Much of the novel transcribes the group sessions at the clinic where, under the direction of an aloof doctor, Lottie alternately chats, quarrels, and problem-solves with her fellow patients: a grieving mother, an irritable drug store owner, an acid-dropping college drop-out, et al. The dialogue in these sessions is well-observed but not very meaningful or—as the novel wears out its welcome—very interesting. In the end, we're back at the beginning. Nothing important has changed, and we're left wondering why we've been following these characters around for two hundred pages. It was pleasant enough, I guess, but a lot like walking without moving. (Addendum: I refuse to believe this book was proofread even once before it was published. More flub-ups than a Sarah Palin speech. If they can't be bothered to read their books, why should I?)

[Olga Zilberbourg · Rating 5 out of 5]

A sweet portrayal of a rehab facility, populated by people of various ages and backgrounds. People are their for various reason. One of the focal characters, Lottie, is an alcoholic. Another mourns the death of her son and his family. Two people are suicidal. A young college woman had overdosed on drugs. Though the general milieu is that of middle-class and middle-aged people, the writer succeeds in subverting stereotypes here and gives us a deeper view of the characters as individuals, through their won individual quirks. I particularly appreciated the thoughtful and caring ways with which each character is drawn, and the unexpected and fascinating point of view shifts.

[Eileen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Now THIS was good. Very sharp dialogue, an unexpected yet somehow mundane plot (not the other way around), a great sense of subdued, dry humor, fast and enjoyable to read while also being well-written, etc.

Here, depression and alcoholism are problems people can actually tackle and work against successfully, frequently through alliances with others who have their own similar bad situations to think about. This sounds off-puttingly inspirational, but it's actually done very well; it's more an underpinning of the story than anything else. Going on with life is just something everyone does, whether they're in a mental hospital or having a tumultuous affair or worrying about being busted for drugs.

"What's for dinner?" as a title is a damn good encapsulation of the book, down to the setting and time period. In contrast, "Everyone deals with the mundanities of life" was clearly not a saleable title.

The afterword, however, is the worst kind of turgid overwrought academic hork imaginable.

[🐴 🍖]

had me thinking of david lynch throughout -- i mean, nothing WEIRD weird happens (nobody trapped in a knob on a dresser, nobody goes to bed w/ a headache & wakes up as balthazar getty) but, like, in the foreground it's all "golly gee" & "my gracious," bridge games & pie-making & would you believe that darn cat knocked the clock off the mantel again? when really the plot elements going on concurrently are alcoholism & infidelity & incest & mental illness... it's almost like sleight-of-hand: "watch the fish in the percolator, pay no attention to the young lady wrapped in plastic." read this, read alfred and guinevere, read nest of ninnies, you can thank me later. (n.b. spare yourself the absolutely frickin dreadful afterword appended onto the nyrb edition, it's like if the dentist from marathon man had gone into lit crit)

[Peter Landau · Rating 4 out of 5]

I always wondered how WASPs lived. Turns out, sordid.

[Magda Beret · Rating 4 out of 5]

Losy grupki mieszczan w Ameryce lat 60-tych. Pod płaszczykiem banału, wiele tu celnych obserwacji społecznych i wartkich dialogów. Proza, która mogłaby być dramatem.

[Jack Rousseau · Rating 4 out of 5]

The question "What's for dinner?" is posed in the first chapter of the novel. Enter Mary Charlotte Taylor ("Lottie" for short) - the perfect wife and housekeeper, for all appearances. But the reader soon learns her embarrassing secret. Her husband, Norris Taylor, asks the titular question "What's for dinner?" The question is posed after Lottie asks: "I wonder what you'll do when I'm gone?" The question is rhetorical. In the context of the first chapter, it is a matter of no consequence what Norris will do when Lottie is gone (dead, that is). But in the context of the novel, the question takes on a new meaning. As a consequence of her embarrassing secret, Lottie will be forced to leave Norris. In fact, the novel covers the time of her absence. The questions "What's for dinner?" and "I wonder what you'll do when I'm gone?" are thereby aligned, not as literal questions but as questions related to novel - What are we, the reader, to expect from this novel?

"I suppose you'll go on some kind of trip and meet somebody so it's no good trying to figure out who you'll pick. Meat loaf."
(pg. 10)

Again, not to be taken literally. But there is a grain of truth in her prediction. Norris is dismissive of Lottie's prediction, along with her dinner suggestion - "Did you say meat loaf? I surmise you're kidding." But it is as unclear to Norris as it is to the reader the implications of Lottie's prediction. Lottie's seemingly meaningless prediction is followed by a seemingly meaningless gesture...

His wife left the room. She returned, carrying a perfume atomizer. Placing herself at an angle to a sunbeam. she rapidly squeezed the bulb.
(pg. 10)

In fact, the meaninglessness of the gesture is emphasized by the ensuing dialogue...

"It's only water. To see if it will lay the dust."
"And does it?"
"I can't tell. I think so. Or it may just stir it up. Or it's other dust that rushes in to take its place."
(pg. 10)

Why is Lottie using a perfume atomizer full of water to lay the dust when she doesn't know whether or not it will lay the dust? Is it meaningless? The gestures is, at least, revealing of Lottie's character. (In the same chapter, Maureen remarks: "I can never imagine how Mary Lottie keeps this room so spit tidy: there's not a thing in it that isn't a dust-catcher. And without a maid.") She is, after all, preoccupied with good housekeeping (good wife that she is). It would be enough to dismiss the gesture as being limited to revealing character. And yet there seems to be something more, supported by a similar description later in the novel...

A beam of sunlight came through the evergreens and into the room, disclosing in its passage the finest of hovering dust.
(pg. 131-132)

What are the evergreens but the front and back cover of the novel? What is the beam of sunlight but Schuyler's penetrating voice? What is the dust but the inhabitants of a small suburb like any other? This simple gesture, Lottie using a perfume atomizer to lay the dust, thereby takes on a new meaning. Indeed, she is, with the atomizer, seeking to achieve clarity. As she will seek to achieve clarity from this first significant gesture to the novel's conclusion. Schuyler's voice, too, seeks to present the story with the same clarity. Indeed, his voice is the beam of sunlight that discloses the passage of the inhabitants of a suburb. No detail is too fine.

Enter Maureen and Bryan Delehantey. Their twin sons, Michael and Patrick. And Bryan's mother, affectionately called "Biddy". In the first chapter, the Taylors are preparing for dinner with the Delehanteys. During the dinner, the reader can't help but notice, as Maureen notices, Lottie's embarrassing secret - that is, her drinking problem...

In the kitchen she rested her hands on the sink and sighed. She opened the cupboard, looked at the bottle of vodka, then firmly closed the door. She felt dizzy.
(pg. 19)

Indeed, her "secret tippling" does not go unnoticed. Bryan remarks: "I wonder what gives a person the idea you can't smell vodka ... Did you catch her breath?" Maureen remarks: "It went to my heart when she almost fell over that rug." Whether or not Lottie has a drinking problem (there is no question, considering she is, in the next chapter, admitted to a hospital to be treated for her alcoholism) the hypocrisy of Maureen and Bryan should be noted. Are they any better for drinking in plain sight?...

"I intend to match you drink for drink, so you needn't give me one of your looks."
(pg. 14)

Ironically, the observation shared by Maureen and Bryan after the dinner (regarding Lottie's drinking) is mirrored during the dinner, when Lottie and Norris share a similar observation about Maureen and Bryan...

In the kitchen Lottie was saying, "I think we should have offered cocktails."
"Bryan already had a few," Norris said. "Couldn't you smell it?"
"So had Maureen. Bourbon smells even worse than it tasted."
(pg. 15)

The hypocrisy of the Delehantey family seems to be confirmed by the twin sons. Early in the dinner, the twins share a nudge - that nudge is the concealment of a secret about a Mr Marks of whom their parents refer to as "a most dedicated teacher". To the twins he is "Fruity" Marks - "Happily married, father of three, Mr Marks had a habit of resting his hand on a boy's shoulder while reviewing a score." Despite their apparent aversion to perceived homosexuals, the twins end the day with a curious ritual...

In the twins' room the light was already off. After a time, Patrick began to breathe heavily. Shortly, and with practised stealth, Michael got out of his bed and into his brother's. They jerked each other off, Patrick never ceasing to feign the breathing sounds of sleep. A box of Kleenex stood convenient on the night table between their beds.
(pg. 25)

And then the reader is dropped into the psychiatric ward of a hospital, where they are acquainted with a new cast of sordid characters. Enter Mrs Brice, an older woman who has lost her son (along with his family) in a car accident. And Bertha, a college student afflicted with "spells" that leave her seemingly comatose - often lying face down on the floor. And Mr Mulwin, an overworked man with a cannonball in his gut. And later Mrs Judson, a disaffected middle-aged woman. And later Mr Carson, a recovering alcoholic who wants to die. As Lottie becomes better acquainted with the other patients, so too the reader becomes better acquinted. Incrementally, they grow into real people with first names. Bertha, whose childish demeanour is emphasized by her first name, grows into a real person with a last name.

But the novel hasn't relinquished the cast of the suburb in Lottie's absence. Lottie's story, taking place in the hospital, is only half of the story. The other half follows Norris, along in the suburb with the Delehanteys. To this cast another character is added - Mag Carpenter, recent widow and friend of Lottie's. The set-up is obvious. The bachelor and the widow...

"Norris, I'd like to ask you a rather personal question."
"Oh?"
"Would you like to come over and spend the night with me?"
"I'm flattered that you should ask me that. It's a real compliment. But I think we'd better not."
(pg. 42)

Norris's resolve, however, is short-lived. The set-up is obvious and the outcome is predictable. In fact, the next prediction belongs to Norris. It's Norris who urges discretion, and Norris (if I remember correctly) who suggests that Maureen is likely to catch on - neighbourhood gossip that she is...

Mag said yo Norris, "Guess who I saw today."
"Maureen Delahantey."
Mag started. "How in the world did you know?"
"I didn't," Norris said. "You asked me to guess, and that was my guess. I'm telepathic."
(pg. 173)

But Norris isn't telepathic. Earlier in the novel, Norris remarks that he is unable to read Lottie's mind. Indeed, he isn't telepathic. This prediction is not a commentary on the strength of Norris's relationships, his ability to read Mag's mind vs. his failure to read Lottie's mind. On the contrary, this prediction is a commentary on the weakness of his relationship with Mag. The relationship itself is predictable, as predictable as the actions of the characters in Biddy's serials...

"It's one of Biddy's serials. Which one is this? A Town Called Pottsville?"
"No. It's Unto Each Day. It takes place in a suburban town not unlike this one. Different families and then men going off to jobs in the city. Except the doctor. I don't know what Frank Watson sees in that secretary of his - she couldn't hoodwink me. Little schemer."
(pg. 33)

There's something cute about the action, however dark or sordid the actions may be. But it is cute without innocence. There's a cuteness about the way in which the characters talk to each other, like the tunes in Oklahoma or the lyrics of Cole Porter...

"I've got to hustle my bustle." (pg. 44)

"Okey-dokey said his highness, but no funny business." (pg. 140)

[Zappster · Rating 3 out of 5]

I'm not really sure what drew me to this book. I suspect it was one of those that I plucked off an obscure best-of list somewhere, one of many that fill my to-read shelf. It's not something I would normally read and yet it feels like I've come across this setup before. Reading other reviews it seems like there are countless stories like it. There's not much of a plot, it's a slice-of-life basically, and the vast majority of the book is dialogue. It works though. Sort of. The humour is more hit than miss, often wry sometimes even droll, but always seems to come at the right moment to lighten proceedings. The characters are varied, if undercooked, but given the length of the book it's easy to excuse.

The reason for the 3 stars? I expected more and I can't really argue for giving it more. Some books ooze brilliance but this isn't one of them and there's no shame in that.

Try before you buy. I think the first 20 pages give you a representative sample of the book.

[Ofelia Hunt · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm curious about poets who think they're novelists and novelists who think they're poets so I read this book as an investigation and my research indicates that James Schuyler is a poet and a novelist and this novel is very very good from this subject-position or something.

Most of the text is conversation and it is all simple and perfect and with characters who are people and there are no terribly fake sentences like about the sunset off the river Kwai dappling the eyebrows of super-poetic monster-children with three eyes and fifteen stomachs full of vinegar potato-chips.

I don't know what that means. This novel made me sad and I liked it.

[Joanna · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Stara gruba Deirdre leżała rozwalona na wiktoriańskim krześle. Łeb oparła na tapicerowanym podłokietniku, z mordy ciekła jej ślina. Obraz doskonałego spełnienia."
Lekki i nielekki obraz amerykańskich przedmieść, ze szczególnym uwzględnieniem uzależnienia od szkockiej, depresji, telenowel, gospodyń w średnim wieku, nudnych romansów i grubych bassetów (cytat wyżej). Polecam szczególnie na niedzielne przedpołudnia, gdy za oknem deszcz.

[Daniel Polansky]

I read this book.

[Blanka Maruszewska · Rating 3 out of 5]

Dajmy na to - bezdzietna mężatka koło czterdziestki popija nieco więcej niż przystoi. Odsyłamy ją na odwyk do kliniki psychiatrycznej, mąż przyjeżdża na "terapie rodzinne" wraz z krewnymi innych pacjentów (a barwna to mieszanka).
W domu, w przedmieściu, zaczyna romansować z "wesołą wdówką" ze "skorpionami w bieliźnie".
Wplączmy do tego dwie rodziny - luzackich wielodzietnych i wielozwierzęcych i sztywną rodzinę z teściową na karku i dorastającymi bliźniętami (zależnie od definicji - sypiającymi ze sobą bądź tylko pomagającymi sobie w masturbacji).
A, no i najważniejsze: dialogi. Powieść przypomina sztukę, może nawet film telewizyjny? Nawiązywać ma ponoć do tradycji komedii amerykańskiej. A szkopuł leży w tym, że dialogi są rejestrowane. Wszystkie. Ktoś z boku wtrąca trzy grosze, ten nie zrozumiał i dopytuje, tutaj rozmowa o niczym, ktoś uczy się szyć i musi pruć, a jaka ładna karafka, ale graty, odkurzyć trzeba, gdzie ja to czytałam, która to była gazeta?

Dialogi niesamowicie realistyczne. Bardziej eksperyment literacki niż wielka powieść; dość poetyckie, szybko się czyta, ale przez ten naturalizm dialogów - przegadane. Lekko. Swój urok zachowuje.

[Caleb Bartholomew · Rating 3 out of 5]

(3.5 stars) I enjoyed this read. I like how the characters move and interact with each other, kind of like White Lotus if it was set in 1950s/60s white suburbia and a rehab/psychiatric ward. (I haven’t watched Season 3, but I’m pretty sure there is one other big similarity). There’s so much potential set up that it’s a little frustrating that it ends without much of a bang, has large gaps, and feels rushed. While the Lottie and Norris/Mag storylines had narratives, I’m not sure of the “plot” of the Delahanty’s storyline, who we spend just as much time with and who have arguably the most interesting plot point. The characters and scenes in the rehab/psych ward are so fully realized and funny. It was also interesting to see a depiction of 50s/60s (mis)understandings of addiction/mental illness from the same time.

I went crazy when it used “water off a duck’s back.”

[Urszula · Rating 4 out of 5]

Chcielibyście zajrzeć w zwyczajne życie w amerykańskim miateczku lat 50-60? Ta książka jest właśnie takim mikroskopem. Problemy z alkoholem, pojawiające się narkotyki, romanse, plotki, a wszystko to muśnięte lekkim piórem autora.
Niewymuszone rozmowy, dużo rozmów, brak frustracji, całkiem sporo szczerości - wszystko to, co zdaje się straciliśmy przez to jedno pokolenie. Niby całkiem niedawna rzeczywistość, a jednak ogląda się jakby odległy świat. Świat, za którym zaczyna być tęskno

[Steve · Rating 3 out of 5]

Not for everyone, because at first glance it's a fairly dry story about the lives of suburban snobs as one of their number is institutionalized for alcoholism. But when you realize the author finds his characters as boring and insufferable as you do, and is playing up their blandness for camp effect, the book becomes incredibly funny in a sneaky, quiet way. Also, the characters do grow on you, so as the story ends and they sort of change for the better, you feel happy for them. Sort of.

[Jennifer · Rating 3 out of 5]

A book club pick that we all agreed had some amusing and strange moments, but wasn't our favorite. We all loved the scenes that took place in the hospital, but the narrative wasn't cohesive and it fell a bit flat for me. I would be curious to read the author's poetry, as one of our members said it was great, and that's why he selected this novel.

[Miarka · Rating 2 out of 5]

Co tu się odjebało
W sensie, to podobno komedia, a ja mam jednak wrażenie że to scenariusz paradokumentu.
Oprócz akcji dziejącej się w szpitalu, wspólnota bardzo slay

[Lisa of Hopewell]

I learned of this book via this review: https://www.stuckinabook.com/whats-fo...

[Michelle · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

[Glenn · Rating 4 out of 5]

A head-spinning aggregate of banalities, broken up by the occasional WTF account of sexual activity (the twins, section 2 of Chapter XI).

[Robert · Rating 3 out of 5]

The first chapter was dynamite. Has this Schuyler fella out-Cheevered Cheever, I wondered.
But then the rest of it was kind of hit and miss.

The NYRB edition includes a new afterword or aftertaste or something that left me thinking of Prof. Irwin Corey, which I’m pretty sure was not the intent.

[Michael · Rating 4 out of 5]

The stories of John Cheever, Richard Yates, John O'Hara, Evan S. Connell, et al.: you might think you've read every tale of postwar suburban malaise as you'd prefer to read in this lifetime (not to mention binge-watching Mad Men). But you haven't read poet James Schuyler's What's for Dinner, so it turns out you'll have to make time for one more.

What a beguiling, unassuming, stealthily funny little masterpiece this book is. Rescued from obscurity by NYRB Classics, this novel follows every convention of the suburban-malaise genre (the unhappy wife turning to drink to get through the day; the lonely widow who begins an affair with the neighbor; the overbearing, traditional father to two pot-smoking twin teenagers*), then inverts them all by the end, mainly through pages of delectable and deadpan dialogue.

The back cover describes this novel's characters as having "escaped from a Norman Rockwell painting to run amok," and I can't improve upon that. A real gem, through and through.

*With a peculiar bedtime habit that is meant to provoke but represents the novel's only lapse of judgment.

[Apoorva · Rating 3 out of 5]

i read the entire book over one beach day this weekend. to be blunt, my life hasn't changed one bit after reading it. It has its moments, to be sure, and there are clever characterizations and dialogue, but it was like reading a long and not very eventful play. I imagine the book was quite original for its time, but it's a pleasant read now, with no dramatic insights.

[Carolyn · Rating 4 out of 5]

This wonderful novel could be shelved with drama because it is almost entirely dialog that conjures a whole life just as it happens in a play. Scenes take place most often at the dinner table, the group therapy table, in bed; and swim along rapidly on waves of light but pointed exchanges between clearly drawn characters. Really a delight.

[Jesse Kraai · Rating 1 out of 5]

I only finished this book because it was kind of short and a NYRB selection. Like a lot of NYRB books it's trying for theory rather than story. We are looking down on the characters, trying to say something larger than them. No character is developed and the scene is static. We're supposed to jack off in front of an immobile picture of suburban American life.

[Wes]

i'm forgoing a rating, as my inability to finish was not schuyler but the rampant typos in the first hundred pages. ever a stickler, despite the humorous and lascivious underpinnings i usually go in for, i had to call it a day.

[Elizabeth · Rating 4 out of 5]

Impressionistic and enjoyable, this short novel felt a bit like a lighter take on Yates' Revolutionary Road. The characters interactions and reactions managed to feel real, yet the book successfully retained a certain degree of gloss that gave it the sort of Mad Men-era style it captures.

[Brian · Rating 5 out of 5]

wicked and wickedly funny

[Becky · Rating 5 out of 5]

Always interesting to see what happens when a gifted poet turns to prose. This is another NYRB find. Cheeveresque. Laughed out loud a few times.

[Matt Walker · Rating 5 out of 5]

So charming. Don't let too much more time go by in your life without having read this.