THE EXHIBITIONIST

For the suffering members of an English family crushed by its artist patriarch, a weekend of so-called celebration leads to implosion.

Ray Hanrahan is a monster, “a one-man chorus of contempt” whose withering criticism and ceaseless manipulation of his wife, Lucia, and younger daughter, Jess, have caused the first to self-sabotage and the second to flee London for a teaching career in Scotland. Originally her tutor, Ray used to nurture Lucia’s artistic gifts, but he has become so jealous of her success that she, drowning in loyalty, must dodge the limelight in order to keep the domestic peace. Ray and Lucia's other daughter—32-year-old Leah, who’s never had a boyfriend and still lives at home—has created a comparatively safe space by devoting her life to her father’s needs and wishes. Now the family is preparing for an important event: Ray’s first solo art show since the mid-1990s, which he hopes will rekindle his fading reputation. Meanwhile, stable things are shifting. Lucia is “stupid with lust” for a woman she met at a party, and her gallerist is trying to reach her with important news. Both Jess and Leah have secrets of their own, and so does Patrick, Lucia’s first child, Ray’s stepson and another lacerated victim of his heedless disdain. Mendelson stuffs every page of her three-day-long comic parable of dysfunction with a high pitch of discomfort, squirms, plots, and wounds while delineating her characters—especially the toweringly horrible yet compelling Ray—with a broad brush. The repetitive dilemmas and submission of those surrounding Ray will be a test of some readers’ patience, or perhaps a cause of sympathy if the characters are viewed as in thrall to their emotional abuser. The writing sparkles with perfectly judged perceptions, but by the novel’s conclusion its rigid structure and underlining can seem oppressive.

A relentless black comedy, excellently phrased but formally frustrating.