Not Alone

Midlife Crisis at 30 - Lia Macko and Kerry Rubin (Plume 2004)

I really wish I had read this 3 years ago, when it first came into my life via a bookswap. Because despite all the differences and things that "make me unique" and whatnot, I often felt like I was reading my life story.

So Macko & Rubin explore what seems the feminist mystique for my generation: that the promise that "you can do anything" turns into the expectation that "you should be everything" ... and inevitably, guilt and panic when we're not. It's a little frustrating to travel back to 2003 and 2004. Man, I wish I were building my career then; I'd happily take that economy over this one.

Anyway, a couple moments of deep identification:

• "a sense of bewilderment about why their lives felt so out of sync with their expectations, as well as a deep fear that the paths they had chosen were leading them in the wrong direction"
• "Despite my best intentions, I ended up exactly where [I did not want to be] at 30."
• "I feel like I just got divorced without ever being married." [This one. So. Much.]

and then the more helpful moments of hearing from women on the other side:

• There's still plenty of time.
• The difference between a B and an A often isn't worth the extra effort and struggle. Sometimes it's okay to settle for that B-plus.
• and from Lt. General Claudia Kennedy: "There are times in your future when you will be more beautiful than you are today; you need to get old enough to be that beautiful."

Anyone who has spent five minutes talking to me in the past 3 months knows that I needed to hear all those things right now. But really, I think just about every young woman I know needs them too. We're a bit younger than Macko and Rubin. Our generational experience is a touch different. But the questions and fears and identity crises we're facing: they haven't changed much over the past decade.

Mindfulness

The Pale King - David Foster Wallace (Little, Brown and Company, 2011)

Talking about DFW is something I do quite a bit, but that I find intensely difficult. (And I'm far from the end of the bell curve of his most devoted fans.) So I'm gonna skip all a whole bunch and go straight to an attempt to make some sort of sense for myself of this unfinished work.

I found myself wondering how long this novel would have been if finished. There's so much... it stands up well as it is, but then I think about Infinite Jest, and I start to think that maybe these 538 are really only about half. And that's.... well, it is. We can leave it there.

What DFW had in mind only really became clear at the end, in the notes, where I was like: ohhhhhh, so that's why everyone was so ... what's the word? They were all gifted. But these quirks all seemed to make sense in middle of the mind-numbing bureaucracy of an IRS building in the middle of a Midwestern field in the middle of the 1980s. It's as much about being present, and paying attention, and breaking through that wall. Thus.... a big long list.

• "It was true: The entire ball game, in terms of both the exam and life, was what you gave attention to vs. what you willed yourself to not." (Esp, in the case of the character thinking this, when you are inundated with extraneous information.)
• This unbelievable passage, too long to quote in full here, about the power of interrupting a conversation and asking "what's wrong?" which will shock the other person into wondering how you know. "He doesn't realize something's always wrong, with everybody. ... He doesn't know everybody's always going around all the time with something wrong and believing they're exerting great willpower and control to keep other people, for whom they think nothing's ever wrong, from seeing it."
• §13 is a really quality depiction of the thought process in panic attacks, and the way anxiety about having anxiety becomes the central source of the anxiety.
• This is (naturally) a footnote: "There are secrets within secrets, though--always."
• The 100-page mega-chapter has several thought-provoking moments, although it becomes funny when you realize later one what its function is.
• A callback here to that first quote I mention: "It had something to do with paying attention and the ability to choose what I paid attention to, and to be aware of that choice, the fact that it's a choice." Different speaker, same idea.
• Oh, and that guy's mom becomes a lesbian in the mid1970s and opens a feminist bookstore called Speculum Books. I loved this.
• Advice often merely points out "the wide gap between the comparative simplicity of the advice and the totally muddled complication of [the advisee's] own situation and path."
• Wallace, as a character: "What renders a truth meaningful, worthwhile, & c. is its relevance, which in turn requires extraordinary discernment and sensitivity to context, questions of value, and overall point - otherwise we might as well just be computers downloading raw data to one another."
• Back on the point of paying attention, there's another lovely long passage (by the DFW character) about concentration and studying and how most paying attention is done in "jagged little fits and starts" and is mostly all the things we do to distract ourselves.
• Oh, and then we get to the uncomfortably true observations about the banality of certain immaturities... that no one truly understands and loves you for who you are and "you're also aware that your loneliness is stupid and banal even while you're feeling it, the loneliness, so you don't even have any sympathy for yourself."

And this doesn't even get at how interested and funny and annoying and actually quite tragic most of the characters are. At how fascinating and extraordinarily rich and DFWian. This book is a treasure, partially formed. And that, unfortunately, has to be enough.

It's a choice, mindfulness. It's a choice what we pay attention to. And everything about David Foster Wallace makes me want to remember that. And to make choices that I find satisfying. It's so difficult; it's unbelievably and maddeningly difficult. But still worth the trying.

The Post-College Years

A Fortunate Age - Joanna Smith Rakoff (Scribner, 2009)

No citations, but I heard lots of mixed reviews about this modern-day homage to Mary McCarthy's The Group (which I haven't read, but apparently if I had read it, I would have known pretty much the major plot points of this novel). Enough that I wasn't really interested in reading it for the longest time. I forget what made me decide to add it to my list.

Regardless, I'm glad I did. Because I found the characters often terrifyingly familiar. There's something about coming out of an elite college or university and then making your way in the real world that perhaps happens to us all. There's a weird juxtaposition between who we are able to be in college and who we must be outside, for better or worse. I'm just about the same age as the characters when the novel ends (well, a little younger, but not much) and I can't really say that my life looks like any of theirs. (The differences between 1994 and 2001 matter a lot too.) But there is something there that transcends that.

Anyway, the novel jumps around between the major characters, a group of friends from Oberlin who all congregate in New York (most of them being from the region anyway). Most of the really big life-changing events - except Lil's wedding, which opens the novel - take place off stage. You see the lead up to them, and then suddenly we've jumped and they've already occurred. It challenges the notion, to some extent, of what is truly important, what matters the most.

And what strikes me the most is how much of growing up is about letting go. And how difficult that can be.

Oops (which is also something a Soviet artist who gave up his dreams might say)

I am realizing that I'm not a very good blogger. I forget to post. I prattle on about the wrong things. But then, since I pretty much always intended this as a reading journal, perhaps it doesn't matter that much.

I am also not very good about reading books in a timely manner. Some books, yes. But others will languish unread for years. And strangely enough, this is not because I don't want to read them. (Well, sometimes maybe.) Rather, it is that I am looking so forward to them that I want to prolong the anticipation. I used to do the same thing with my favorite Halloween candy, which backfired when my parents ended up eating all my Twix. And there would often been Cadbury cream eggs in the refrigerator into the fall.

(Hmm, I was just struck with the thought that this delayed gratification streak is one of the things that is really good about getting so many of my books from the library. First, I get the delay while I'm waiting to get to the top of the list. But then! there are deadlines. I have to pick up the book by a certain date, and then I have to get it back to the library, read, just a few weeks later. It's very good for me.)

Anyway, I digress. One of those languishing books, a gift from almost 3 years back, was The Dream Life of Sukhanov, by Olga Grushin. (By the way, should I be spending mental energy wondering why Grushin, who grew up in Moscow & Prague before moving to the US, is Grushin instead of Grushina?) In Dream Life, we meet a self-satisfied art magazine editor in his late 50s, who appears to be on top of the world with a cushy job, all the perks of being high up in the Soviet apparatus, and a lovely family. But it's the mid-1980s, and there is a new Party Secretary, and a bunch else is about to begin to change. And more importantly, a quarter century earlier, Sukhanov, a talented artist, put aside his ideologically impure art in favor of security. Now, the decision is coming back to haunt him, literally.

As the past descends on Sukhanov, his grasp on reality and time grows shaky, as he slips into flashbacks. Grushin emphasizes these transitions by seamlessly switching from a third-person present to a third person past to a first-person past. And the flashbacks become longer, and deeper. Not only does the technique enable to reader to see how and why Sukhanov abandoned what he most loved, it also illustrates the way that he is sinking further and further into this dream life. And perhaps has inherited his father's insanity. The end comes in a dizzying whirl.

This reader's reaction to Sukhanov was complicated. His self-satisfied smugness at the opening is irritating, and I couldn't help being happy that he was going to be taken down a peg or two. And yet, especially as his vulnerability comes through, I pitied him, and wanted him to be okay. To somehow take the action that would save his (artistic) soul while remaining safe from the wild currents of history and madness. And the vagaries of bureaucratic displeasure. What can I say? I have an over-protective nature.

Grushin was a teen in Moscow in the mid1980s. I hope that her fiction will continue to engage this confusing and heady era, shedding light on how Russians of all stripes faced the promise and peril of the times.

Pretty Little Mistakes - a gimmick that mostly works

I don't know if there's still around, but kids of my generation read a fair amount of "Choose Your Own Adventure" books, where every couple pages you faced a decision and "chose" which path you wanted your protagonist to take. While there would be occasional overlap, generally your choices (obviously) influenced the course of the narrative, resulting in different endings.

The only one of these works that I remember at all was a time-travel one, set in Elizabethan/Shakespearean England. One of the endings involved being a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and watching her try to get some ring off as she died. (Why do I remember these things????)

All of this takes me to Heather McElhatton's Pretty Little Mistakes, which is billed as "a do-over novel." It's a clever premise, beginning with a single decision: do you go to college with your boyfriend, or do you go travel? What major you choose, where you choose to travel, etc. sends you on entirely different paths. (Although crystal meth seems to figure in an awful lot of them.)

But therein lie the three problems I had with this book. 1 - I didn't know when I was finished. I still don't really. Each life takes about 10 minutes (probably less) to read, but I don't really want to try to ensure I hit all 150 of them. At this point, I feel pretty well over it. Maybe I'll try to find a couple more paths I missed. 2 - I didn't care about the characters. Because "you" are the protagonist (and this "you" wasn't much like me), she isn't defined, and the other characters pop in and out. It's not about plot or character development. And as a result, kind of boring. 3 - My first two complaints are kind of weak, b/c McElhatton's project wasn't meant to have a defined "I've read this" or rich characters. But the intellectual conceit of the gimmick is that the decisions you take send your life in wildly different directions. But really, one person wouldn't potentially make all the decisions in these pages. They require personalities that are just too different from one another. So it's hard for me to think of "you" as a single person.

Am I over-thinking this? Probably. It was fun to be a pharma rep and a lesbian in Ireland and to marry into the mafia and die of hepatitis in the London flat of an Indian transsexual. But do I feel enriched from having read Pretty Little Mistakes? Unfortunately, no.