The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25 Year Landmark Study, by Judith S. Wallerstein, Julia M. Lewis, and Sandra Blakeslee (2000)
I heard a lot about this book before I read it. The hot issue seems to be that people who haven't read the book think Wallerstein says parents should stay together for the sake of the children. I've read all 300+ pages and I can now tell you she says no such thing, so everyone can just stop frothing at the mouth now. Or, well, hold that froth, because she does say some things I know are going to be unpopular. For example, she says parents can pretty much stop pretending they're getting divorced for the benefit of the children; e.g., to show the children what "real love" is, or to selflessly sacrifice the marriage so that children won't think that's the way Real Marriage is, or to make the children happier because both parents will be happier living apart. The 25-year study shows that children don't care if their parents are happy, nor do they care if their parents have found a fulfilling love life. Children would rather have their parents married miserably than divorced blissfully.
But that's another point Wallerstein makes: that although many couples think divorce will end their misery and fighting (sparing the children from witnessing it), divorce more often escalates and intensifies it. Rather than being blissfully divorced, the parents are now miserably divorced. Other stressful elements come into the mix: custody battles, child support checks, living on less money, stay-at-home mothers needing to work, dating and live-in lovers, new spouses, step-siblings. Children end up suffering, not just while they get over the divorce but long into their adulthoods. Many never recover, and their own relationships suffer. And if that's not enough to make a parent think twice about divorce, it turns out that divorced parents are unlikely to be supported in their old age by their children.
So here's what Judith Wallerstein DOES say, the remark that got featured in headline print when it's about one-millionth of the book: If you're considering a divorce, maybe your first step should be to consider if your marriage is salvageable enough to make it possible for you to indeed stay together for the sake of the children. Then she immediately turns away from that point, as if assuming that no couple on the brink of divorce would be able/willing to do that, and spends most of the rest of the book instructing parents how they can make the impact of divorce slightly less on the children. She gives advice about how to explain the divorce to children, how to keep the communication going, how to manage joint custody, and how to manage step-families. The main point of her book, in fact, is not "Can we stop divorce?" but rather "Can we do this divorce thing BETTER? Because right now it sucks." (Er, that would be my slang; I'm sure Judith Wallerstein would never say "sucks.")
What she doesn't do is sugarcoat. She wants to force parents to understand what a devastating effect the divorce will have on their children's entire lives, and she wants them to take responsibility for that effect. She wants parents to realize that children do mind living in two households and don't want to hear how "lucky" they are to have two bedrooms, two birthdays, two Christmases, etc. She wants to prepare parents that the divorce may permanently damage their relationship with their children. She wants parents to understand that the divorce may not bring them what they hope (new fulfilling love lives, better careers, the end of fighting and a new satisfaction with life), or that if the parents do find new happiness, it will be at the expense of the children's happiness. Life may in fact be worse on all points for everyone involved, and according to her study it often is. The parents may suffer as they try to manage their new lives and new disappointments, and the children suffer even more deeply.
In fact, the children in the study are eager to whine and complain about this suffering. The divorce becomes central to their lives, giving them excuses for bad behavior in their teens and 20s, plus bitching material well into their 30s and 40s. The children of divorce have a ready-made cop-out for every failed relationship, every fear of commitment, every college drop-out, every abandoned project. I sympathized--and I also got sick of hearing about it. They all sound the same: "Not my fault, don't know what love is, never really had it easy, never learned to love, can't trust anyone, always afraid of betrayal, leaving someone before he leaves me, I didn't ask to be born." They've had many years to practice their staggering self-pity, and it shows. If I had any complaint about the book, it's that the authors didn't seem to take into account the need many people have to feel sorry for themselves and find excuses for their imperfect lives. What the authors record as deep lasting pain might be deep lasting wallowing.
I don't recommend the book for parents who have already divorced (especially if it was long ago), because all this book is going to do is put them on the defensive. Which is the very reason I think so many people are frothing at the mouth about it already: once a person makes a decision, he or she has to think it was the right one; if new information comes out making the person look like he or she was a big stupid loser, obviously that person is going to be upset and want to refute the information. So if you're a divorced parent, why put yourself through the guilt? You made your decision and it isn't as if you can go back and change it now. If you're the child of divorced parents, perhaps the book would be good for you to read or perhaps it would give you unnecessary fuel for whining. The children of divorced parents I've run into don't seem to have any problem enumerating the ways in which they've been wronged, but there must be some out there who need to be told that it's okay to feel sad and so forth, and the book might be useful for them. The people I think should really read the book are married (even happily married) couples with children. Reading the case studies and reading how other people's divorces turned out is strong motivation to stay married. Other people who should read this book are parents about to divorce, since they can get valuable advice on how to do it as well as possible. And finally, anyone who works with divorced families should read the book: counselors, teachers, people who marry the kids whose parents divorced, etc.
Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, by Jeanette Winterson (1985)
If the back jacket is to be believed, this confusing novel is autobiographical. About half the novel concerns a girl named Jeanette who grows up in a radically religious community and is cast out when she hits puberty and realizes she's a lesbian. I understood very few of the conversations between Jeanette's mother and her friends, and also couldn't keep track of how old Jeanette was. She was seven years old, and then suddenly she was seventeen, and then how much time passes before the end of the book I couldn't say. Jeanette's mother makes odd, unexplained statements, one of which is that oranges are the only fruit. In the beginning I wondered if there was going to be some kind of reasoning behind this (maybe an Eden/apple thing?) but no reasoning was ever forthcoming. In fact, the whole thing about oranges seemed to serve no other purpose than tying into a weird subplot about an orange demon and oranges appearing on a windowsill.
The other half of the novel is a mishmash of fairy tale, hallucination, dream, and stream of consciousness. Presumably we're supposed to draw parallels between the main story and the mishmash, but I wasn't in the mood. A typical quote: "It is the nature of stone to covert [sic] bone. At one time or another there will be a choice: you or the wall. Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. The City of Lost Chances is full of those who chose the wall. All the king's horses and all the king's men. Couldn't put Humpty together again. Then is it necessary to wander unprotected through the land? It is necessary to distinguish the chalk circle from the stone wall." And so on for pages, regularly throughout the book. Gibberish as far as I'm concerned, but perhaps there are those would would find it meaningful.
Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story, by Christopher Moore (1995)
The only Stephen King book that ever made me want to wet the bed rather than walk past a dark window was 'Salem's Lot, and since then vampire books have held little appeal. The title of this one made me think I could handle it. Jody, the title's bloodsucking fiend, starts out as a nice career woman attracted to weak, pretty men. On her way home from work she's attacked and wakes up stuck under a dumpster with $70,000 cash she didn't have before. The first thing that strikes her as odd, though, is that she heaved the several-ton dumpster aside without the kind of extraordinary effort you'd expect. And her hand is badly burned, but it seems to be healing as she looks at it. And on the way home she can see heat and auras and she knows who's dying. And when she gets back to her apartment and her weak, pretty boyfriend is a jerk, she heaves a potted plant at him and then drinks some of his blood. Before long it occurs to her that she's a vampire, and she's pleased to see that apparently she can drink blood without killing the victim or turning him into another vampire. Another happy thing is that she no longer has freckles, split ends, or scars. A downside is that she passes out completely from sundown to sunrise so it's going to be tough to get her car out of the impound during business hours. Jody realizes that she's going to need someone to run daytime errands, so she looks around and finds Thomas Flood, aspiring writer and nighttime grocery stock clerk. They begin a relationship that has to survive the kinds of problems most couples don't have to deal with, including eventually doing battle with the vampire who made Jody a vampire. I thought the book was funny (except for the excerpts from women's magazines, which were lame), and I was relieved to find it mostly non-scary and non-gross. No problem walking past a dark window tonight. No more than usual, I mean.
The Daughters of Simon Lamoreaux, by David Long (2000)
My main worry when I read a book about some big mysterious event (in this case, the disappearance of a teenager) is that there won't be a full solution at the end. Or, worse, that there will be a cop-out solution, such as that at the last minute, after a lot of build-up and suspense, one character comes up with a solution out of his bare mind with no evidence to go on and that's the end of the book. Which, as you might have guessed, is what happens in this book.
Miles Fanning is supposed to meet his girlfriend Carly for a nice secluded make-out session, but she never shows up. I mean NEVER. She disappears and the case is not solved. Years and years later, Miles is on a 4-month trial separation from his wife when Carly's sister Julia contacts him out of the blue. What Julia wants to do is have impossibly long monologues that end up being nearly the whole book. Julia tells stories of her family that seem to be leading towards a solution to the crime, but actually Julia is just looking to vent her feelings while she chain-smokes. Miles is astonishingly cooperative, listening day after day saying only "mm hmm" and "all right."
In the last 18 pages Miles has a vision about what might have happened to Carly, a vision that brings in made-up characters and some extremely specific information such as exactly which quarry a car is in and exactly where a ring was acquired (an irrelevant detail). He goes to a police station to tell his little daydream about a crime that happened nearly a quarter century ago and maybe get some actual facts involved, and it turns out the file has been lost. Then his romantic life gets straightened out in an unconvincing way. End of book. The writing was terrific; the story idea was good; the ending bit.
Marrying the Mistress, by Joanna Trollope (2000)
When a man leaves his wife for a woman who wasn't even born when he got married, boy do you ever want to side with the wife. Good luck doing so with this book. Laura, the wife, isn't some evil harpy; in fact, her bad traits are so subtle and realistic that I imagine they'll remind most readers of someone they know. She's manipulative and martyrish and wants to make her oldest son into her new caretaker now that her husband has left her. Merrion, the mistress, has her own faults, but she's a sweetheart and it isn't difficult to understand why the family can't help but like her--despite the fact that she's younger than Guy and Laura's sons, Simon and Alan. Simon is the reason every mother of sons should read the book: a mama's boy like this is made not born, and there are a lot of women who might want to rethink their parenting methods after getting to know Laura. Alan is a darling, confident and relaxed and able to see everyone's point of view without getting emotional. Carrie, Simon's wife, is just trying to get through this without losing her husband to his mother. I loved the book and want to read others by this author, even though I found that reading this book in public elicited many tiring trollop jokes.
Little Alters Everywhere, by Rebecca Wells (1992)
Little Alters Everywhere is part of the same book as Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (see review). Technically it was written first, but since both books are told by many narrators in many times, the two could really be smacked together into one volume and no one would know the difference. Little Alters Everywhere explores the same delightful and dysfunctional family but contains different stories and anecdotes. I preferred it to Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood because it was less deliberately written: the author wasn't so set on including nudity and psychoanalysis and gay male friends. I recommend both books as very good light reading, and I suggest reading this one first--though it doesn't really matter.
The Best of Friends, by Joanna Trollope (1995)
Try reading this novel after reading the book on the effect of divorce on children (see review, above). It demonstrates many of the main points: that children don't care if their parents are romantically fulfilled, that children don't want to be responsible for their parents' emotional health, that children don't feel comfortable at home once a parent moves out, and so on. Gina and Laurence are best friends, and they live with their families in the same small town. When Gina's husband Fergus abruptly abandons her, Gina is unable to cope and turns to Laurence for help. Laurence's marriage to his wife Hilary is on rocky ground, and his newly renewed friendship with Gina makes things far worse. Soon Laurence's three sons and Gina's daughter are all struggling with what they feel is an onslaught of family turmoil. Things work out in the end as well as can be expected, considering the mess the so-called adults create with their childish selfish actions. A very pleasing read with educational benefits.
Mistaken Virtues, by Joanna Trollope (1979)
Normally you wouldn't find me within 50 feet of a book that used phrases like "set in the late eighteenth century" and "turbulent, sensual Calcutta" and "until her destiny--in love as well as in life--is finally of her own making" on the book jacket. But after two enjoyable books by this author, I was willing to take a chance. Caroline is a parson's daughter, with a wuss for a brother and a nagging witch for a sister. She spends her days caring for the poor and sick, until the day her father dies and she finds herself miserable and without a clear future. She takes an opportunity to move to India and be married to a boy she dated years ago, now a grown man who is completely uninterested in her but thinks he must marry her to keep his inheritance. Their marriage is one of those partnership deals that can work out very well or very badly: she will care for his household, and he will keep her from having to turn to charity for her support. In their case, the deal is a miserable failure. Johnnie is a drunken thug who resents Caroline's presence even when she makes his life far more comfortable and far less expensive. Then, at a party, Caroline meets a man who makes her believe she might have a normal future after all. Mistaken Virtues reminded me of Jane Eyre, in that the two romantic leads are people who are plain but have wonderful characters--and in that what seems like an impossible situation is resolved by fire.
Seeing Through Places: Reflections on Geography and Identity, by Mary Gordon (2000)
This book of autobiographical essays is written in the style of an extremely well-known person who knows her musings will be read with interest by a devoted audience. The combination of subtitle and book jacket led me to expect that each essay would have a point, explicit or implicit, but instead I felt I was reading a long meandering reminiscence by someone whose age or mental state has led them to imagine that the listener is interested. I didn't hate the book, but I didn't see the point. I was mostly bored, waiting for the meat of the meal and never getting to it.
Four Blondes, by Candace Bushnell (2000)
Nothing says "Take me seriously as a writer" quite like a full-back-cover author photo in which the author is leaning forward and using her upper arms to make B look like D.
The book is a set of four stories, all just as padded and superficially glamorous as the photo. Each story stars a woman who is like all the others in that she is blonde, a significant personality trait. Each story has all the drugs and sex a story needs if it's not going to have plot and character. The characters are caricatures, and not interesting ones at that.
I got through the first two stories and half of the third before getting that same overdose feeling I get if I eat too many marshmallow Peeps at Easter: sick and depressed and fed up with the whole world. Nevertheless, this book does not sink to the category of books that include flashing violet eyes. Just because I was bored and world-weary doesn't mean there aren't many women who genuinely enjoy reading yet another forced racy Hollywood power novel about women using beauty and sex to get money from men--and the writing is not as terrible as in most such novels.
Spence + Lila, by Bobbie Ann Mason (1988)
Combined with the disturbingly primitive illustrations, this snail-paced simple little story is wearying and a little icky. Lila has to have a mastectomy and neck surgery, so for almost the entire story (which begins, inexplicably, on page 13) she's in the hospital complaining about the air-conditioning, thinking negative thoughts about the way hospitals are run, and considering her apparently enormous "jugs." Her husband Spence, the taciturn farmer, spends most of his time battling insomnia/heartburn and thinking about how everything in the world makes sense on a farm. Odd and sometimes gross little details pop up in the middle of a rural and laid-back sort of story, which otherwise goes from beginning to end on the same note of bland, bucolic narrative. Little mulling asides bring us to the dating days of Spence and Lila, to Spence's war days, and to Lila's early motherhood. The book is so short that perhaps it would have been better off paring down a hundred pages or so and being a sweet little short story about middle-aged love instead.
Aaron, Approximately, by Zachary Lazar (1998)
I read a lot of coming-of-age novels, not so much because I'm so fond of them but because there are so many of them. Every author seems to want to tell the story of traumatic puberty, like it's such an unusual thing. I have a particularly hard time relating to stories about boys. At first I thought it was a little fictional license, but now I've read it so many times in so many novels I'm beginning to believe the reports of heads held in toilet bowls, fights after school, all that constant swearing and abuse and obscenity, the discussions of girls and specifically of what can be obtained from girls. Girls don't do things like this. They have their own methods of inflicting lifetime trauma, but few of them involve toilet bowls and fist fights. So a story about a boy's adolescence is starting out in a foreign language for me.
And this particular boy would drive me crazy. Never have I encountered a character whose demands for reassurance and ego-bolstering were more incessant. Never would I voluntarily spend time with someone who spent so much of his own time fretting and brooding and feeling guilty because he's thinking about his own life instead of dedicating every thought to countries with "real problems." He doesn't just need to be told he's a worthy person capable of producing worthy things, he also has to be told that working on himself and thinking about himself is a worthy thing to do--and then he gets upset because he's wasting time worrying about his unworthy self and making other people do it too, not that this changes his ways.
The author is trying to tie this tortured soul to the tortured soul's childhood experience of seeing his father die in a freak skydiving accident, but the link is never clear. The accident is mentioned at the beginning and again at the end, but everything in between sounds like normal traumatic puberty combined with this particular boy's personality type. The book is fine if you like this kind of thing.