An impeccably crafted love letter to the oft-unseen and ignored work of women across the world.
True to its title, this novel, which was published as La Tresse in France in 2017, weaves together the stories of three intrepid women living in different countries.
In India, Smita demands a better life for her daughter than the one she has known as a member of the Dalit caste. In Italy, Giulia must secure her family’s future after an accident befalls her father, patriarch of the last traditional hairpiece and wig workshop in Palermo. And in Canada, Sarah faces breast cancer without support. Colombani tells these stories in concise chapters that alternate among the three women's points of view. While most of the novel unfolds in these close third-person perspectives, a few brief interludes, including a prologue and an epilogue, punctuate the narrative with the lyrical first-person voice of a fourth woman, adding even more texture and depth to the already charming story of how these women’s lives connect. Colombani’s prowess as a film and theater writer is on full display. The prose hums along without fuss, and several chapters end with terrific suspense. Only occasionally does the story stall, as when the author shoehorns in exposition to make a point about gender inequality or when she oversteps by making too direct a comparison between characters’ lives. Smita's, Giulia's, and Sarah’s individual stories and how they’re interconnected are strong enough elements on their own without any false equivalencies. While the novel presents a romanticized version of globalization, it’s unapologetic about its agenda of celebrating the bonds of womanhood. The story’s masterful structure and plotting more than make up for the narrative’s rose-colored glasses.
An impeccably crafted love letter to the oft-unseen and ignored work of women across the world.Pub Date: Sept. 24, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-9821-3003-9
Page Count: 224
Publisher: Atria
Review Posted Online: June 30, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 15, 2019
Suffused with feeling and very moving.
A man straitjacketed in routine blinks when his emotional blinders are removed in Tyler’s characteristically tender and rueful latest (Clock Dance, 2018, etc.).
Micah’s existence is entirely organized to his liking. Each morning he goes for a run at 7:15; starts his work as a freelance tech consultant around 10; and in the afternoons deals with tasks in the apartment building where he is the live-in super. He’s the kind of person, brother-in-law Dave mockingly notes, who has an assigned chore for each day: “vacuuming day…dusting day….Your kitchen has a day all its own” (Thursday). Dave’s comments are uttered at a hilarious, chaotic family get-together that demonstrates the origins of Micah’s persnickety behavior and offers a welcome note of comedy in what is otherwise quite a sad tale. Micah thinks of himself as a good guy with a good life. It’s something of a shock when the son of his college girlfriend turns up wondering if Micah might be his father (not possible, it’s quickly established), and it’s really a shock when his casual agreement to let 18-year-old Brink crash in his apartment for a night leads Micah’s “woman friend,” Cass, to break up with him. “There I was, on the verge of losing my apartment,” she says. “What did you do? Quickly invite the nearest stranger into your spare room.” Indignant at first, Micah slowly begins to see the pattern that has kept him warily distant from other people, particularly the girlfriends who were only briefly good enough for him. (They were always the ones who left, once they figured it out.) The title flags a lovely metaphor for Micah’s lifelong ability to delude himself about the nature of his relationships. Once he realizes it, agonizing examples of the human connections he has unconsciously avoided are everywhere visible, his loneliness palpable. These chapters are painfully poignant—thank goodness Tyler is too warmhearted an artist not to give her sad-sack hero at least the possibility of a happy ending.
Suffused with feeling and very moving.Pub Date: April 7, 2020
ISBN: 978-0-525-65841-2
Page Count: 192
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: Dec. 22, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 2020
All the bucolic pacifism of an episode of Prairie Home Companion without the seething undercurrents.
The denizens of Mason, Missouri, are at it again, dispensing just deserts with unearned optimism on the side.
The premise for this book, a sequel to two other novels set in Mason (Night of Miracles, 2018; The Story of Arthur Truluv, 2017), is the Confession Club, a group of mostly middle-aged women who meet regularly at each other’s homes to exchange secrets over wine and treats. For the most part, though, the Confession Club operates independently and irrelevantly of the novel’s main concern—the ongoing sagas of the late Arthur Truluv’s surviving friends. Iris, baking teacher extraordinaire, is about to turn 50, and 20-something Maddy has just returned from New York City with her 7-year-old daughter, Nola, leaving her new husband behind. A major character is introduced: John, a 66-year-old, handsome, homeless Vietnam vet, has made his way from Chicago to Mason, taking up residence in an abandoned farmhouse. Berg does not delve deeply into either the details of John’s homeless existence or his Vietnam combat experience. However, the competence and resourcefulness John displays as a homeless person are strangely at odds with his PTSD. This contradiction might give readers pause, since PTSD (for which he refused counseling) led to John's wife’s departure, which resulted in his homelessness. Iris is immediately attracted to John, albeit leery of him—and it’s unclear how leery she should be. The Confession Club seems to exist mostly to explore themes like infidelity, loneliness, independence, and longing, which are too generic to relate to the principal players’ predicaments. As usual, Mason is a refuge unruffled by the country’s political turmoil, and conflict, if any, is mostly avoided before it can generate any excitement. Some readers may wish to return to Mason again and again, to relax with the literary equivalent of well-worn slippers, a glass of wine, and no wellness diets in sight. But readers seeking insight into modern American life, leavened with humor, might be better challenged by Richard Russo or Anne Tyler.
All the bucolic pacifism of an episode of Prairie Home Companion without the seething undercurrents.Pub Date: Nov. 19, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-984855-17-6
Page Count: 304
Publisher: Random House
Review Posted Online: Sept. 1, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2019
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