So Misguided

The Mad Wife is billed as a psychological historical fiction. It’s not really a psychological thriller but there is some uncertainty about the fallibility of the narrator. This is the story off Lulu Mayfield, a 1950s mother and housewife who is struggling with a newborn and 5 year old. The expectations and suburban rigidity of her life is killing her. The ladies on the block all grocery shop on one day, have a cleaning schedule they adhere to religiously, and all have husbands who are absent at work and expect the perfect life at home: drinks ready after work, table set, home-cooked meal, dishes and laundry down, quiet well-behaved children, and admiration from the neighbours. Perfect is hard to do when you have (unrecognized) postpartum depression.

Lulu was raised on a farm and feels penned in by the limitations of her life. She doesn’t follow the cleaning or shopping schedule, and initially it seems like quiet rebellion but as insomnia and dark thoughts grip her, the question becomes whether she’s postpartum or slipping into a deeper mental health crisis.

The twist here is that, before being sent away to get her nerves in order, Lulu has become fixated on Bitsy, who’s just moved in across the street. Bitsy is dour but welcomed easily into the fold by Lulu’s friend Nora. As Lulu investigates the new neighbours, Bitsy’s husband endears himself to Lulu’s husband. They work for the same architect firm. He wants a good word put in from him. They are both vying for the same promotion. But this man is the fox in the henhouse as far as Lulu is concerned. When she discovers Bitsy was given a lobotomy, approved by her husband, the tides turn in how she relates to Bitsy.

The challenge in this read is that what we understand today was not recognized in the 50s. Lulu’s doctor dismisses her postpartum struggles and diagnoses hysteria. He prescribes pills, the defacto way to return an obedient wife to her husband, and eventually it escalates to Lulu being institutionalized. The question is how far will Lulu’s husband go to re-establish his ideal household.

If you like The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, this is a modern writer casting back to the 1950s domestic gaslighting many women faced.

Some People by Parini Shroff is a sad yet hilarious story about a soon-to-be-divorced man who has to tend to his ornery mother-in-law after she has a fall. Her daughter is away in India and he’s called as the next-of-kin medical contact. The situation is bad for everyone, and as a result it’s pretty funny.

Malti is the sharp-witted and sharp-tongued mother (mother-in-law). She immigrated to the US from India when she was young and raised Kavya alone. Malti was over protective and a workaholic (by necessity, not by choice). Kavya is successful by all measures but unhappy. She’s quit her high-paying job and gone into the non-profit sector. Now she’s quit that job to return to school, but not in America, in India. Maybe it’s to spite her mother who never wanted to return or connect to family there or maybe it’s to reconnect to her Indian heritage and language.

It’s midlife crisis time for Kavya, and that puts her marriage to Nathan on the rocks. Nathan is no saint in this. He’s a white guy who has never actively participated in Kavya’s family or traditions. He’s emotionally unavailable, a bit of a neat freak, and tapped into the stereotypical Californian, tech/engineer/video gamer, foodie persona.

The mutual hostility between Nathan and Malti runs its course through the book as Nathan nurses Malti back to health and keeps Kavya at bay in India. But the close quarters forces these two, who both deeply love Kavya, to deal with their cultural misunderstandings, emotional barriers, and past grievances.

The story covers a seven day period that feels like years of therapy baked into a quiet, bittersweet, yet redemptive story.

The Bandit Queens was a riot compared to this, but Parini Shroff knows how to write about strong women who are short changed and underestimated, yet rise above the patriarchy–or at least get their head above it. There are some very funny moments.

If you like dry wit, dark humour (not too dark), flawed characters and unconventional family dynamics, this give this a read.

Whistler by Ann Patchett is a quiet love story. Not a romantic one, but a story about sibling love and parental love. There are certainly examples of romantic love too, but I’d say those love stories aren’t the focus.

The story begins with Daphne Fuller and her husband Jonathan, who are spending a quiet afternoon at the Met. Jonathan is under the impression that a man is following Daphne. Silly escapades later, Jonathan confronts the man and discovers that it is Eddie Triplett, Daphne’s former stepfather and her mother’s second husband (she’s on husband number 3 at the moment).

Eddie had been quickly and unceremoniously evicted from the home, Daphne’s life, and even his job. Daphne was nine, never got a chance to say goodbye, and quietly moved on with her life. But she and Eddie had an unbreakable bond, and finding each other in the museum leads to a slow-burn of a story as the two get reacquainted and the catch up on the 40+ years in-between.

Leda, Daphne’s sister, was even younger. She knew less of Eddie, and even less about the car accident that bonded Daphne and Eddie together. As Daphne and Eddie reconnect, the story circles in on what the two children understood, what they misremember, and what the adults chose to leave unsaid.

This is not a plot-heavy novel. The movement is emotional rather than dramatic. Daphne’s chance encounter with Eddie opens up the past, and the novel follows the way old relationships can return, not as interruptions but as missing pieces.

Daphne has a life, a husband, a sister, and a history she has carried quietly. Eddie has his own version of the story. Leda has another. The pleasure of the novel is in watching those versions overlap, contradict, and soften.

Patchett is very good at the emotional weight of ordinary scenes: a museum visit, a conversation, a remembered moment from childhood. The tension comes less from what will happen next and more from what has been carried forward without being fully understood.

My favourite part is the way Patchett writes little quips and asides. There are so many funny moments that are not scenes that set out to be comedic, but rather lightly tap your funny bone.

I also love the bond between Daphne and Eddie. It is tender. Eddie is not Daphne’s father yet he holds a place in her life that no one else can quite fit. Their connection is built out of ordinary care, shared experience, and the kind of unexplained attachment that sometimes happens between people.

The sister relationship between Daphne and Leda is another strong bond. It reminded me a bit of The Dutch House: the intensity and love between siblings, the tension with parents, and the types of memories that form in childhood and then inform adulthood.

If you enjoyed The Dutch House, you’ll likely enjoy Whistler for its sibling dynamics, complicated family history, and the way childhood memory becomes a lifelong architecture.

If you enjoyed Tom Lake, this is quieter and not as complex, but it has a beauty to it that is found in all Patchett novels. Like Tom Lake, Whistler has that same interest in how people tell the story of their lives, and how love can be steady without being showy.

And if you like novels about family bonds, chosen parents, childhood grief, and the people who become a North Star in our lives, this is very much that kind of book.

Whistler is a novel about loss, love, quiet grief, and staying true to one’s self. But I’d say it’s more a celebration of what you have than what you don’t.