Indiscretion

Indiscretion

By Charles Dubow

Note: This review also appears over at I Read a Book Once. Go there. It's where all the cool kids hang out

Adultery is boring. I think one gets to a certain age and realizes that the entire idea of adultery as an offense is as predictable as it is hurtful. The entire affair tends to happen in a prescribed order of events and rarely strays from that order. As a narrative theme in literature, it's as dull as dishwater. As a subject for a novel, it is the proverbial dead horse. If an author chooses to go down this path, tread carefully lest thou fall victim to cliche.

That's not to say that authors should not explore the subject, but one has to be careful. There are only so many ways in which to make infidelity an interesting topic. As a backdrop for other narrative streams for instance or as a plot twist. But as the central focus of a novel? Egads! No! Adultery as the central action of a novel is nothing short of banal.

Which makes Charles Dubow's new novel Indiscretion somewhat of a surprise. Rather than try to reinvent the wheel, Indiscretion is banal to its very core. It revels in its banality. It glories in cliches and predictable outcomes: the carelessly ignored credit card bills, the thinly veiled web of lies. The banality of adultery is the part of the point. The predictable outcomes are as much part of the theme of the novel as the adulterous action. Indiscretion is banal by design but dull it is not.

Well played Mr. Dubow.

The novel explores the relationship between Harry and Maddie Winslow, a couple who have everything they could possibly want. Harry is a former college athlete and a successful novelist. Maddie is independently wealthy and fills her days learning the culinary arts and taking care of their nine-year old son. Together that have an apartment in Manhattan, a house the Hamptons and a jet set lifestyle that enables them to spend winters in Rome and weekends in Paris. In their spare time they enjoy long walks on the beach and taking Harry's Cessna for a spin. Life has been good to Harry and Maddie. As Jack Donaghy once put it, the Winslows are living in "the bubble." They are the 1%. We should all be so lucky.

But twenty years of (more or less) blissful 1%-style marriage is apparently not enough for Harry. Like everyman who has it all (including an airplane for Chrissake!), he doesn't. Enter Claire, stage right. Through a series of chance meetings over the course of a summer, Claire, a tried and true 99%-er, ingratiates herself with the Winslows and is instantly welcomed into Harry and Maddie's world of martinis, slacks and chèvre. Claire is dazzled by the unbuttoned wealth of old money and Harry's tractor beam personality. It's only a matter of time.

You've read this story before. Thousands of times. And don't expect any surprises. The reader is acutely aware of the direction of the narrative at every turn. And why shouldn't we be? Dubow is intelligent enough to understand that he is not going to surprise us when Harry and Claire invariably end up in bed together or how the affair progresses to its logical and painful end or the fallout and aftermath. The emotions involved are nothing new. It's all been said and done before. In books and movies and television. There's no reason to attempt to trick the readers when there are no tricks forthcoming.

But Dubow is a craftsman. Even though we all know where this novel is heading, his characterization and pacing make even the most telegraphed action interesting. Dubow stops to savor the moments, relish in the tension or passion or tragedy. In that respect, Indiscretion is a thorough examination not only of the adultery theme but of adultery itself. Dubow mulls over the age old adage: we don't really know what we want until we've already lost it. We are all inherently selfish. We can blame it on youth, middle-age, old age, sex or even tragedy but selfishness is the driving force in how we interact with the world.

But I don't want to imply that this novel is a cliche simply because it explores a cliche. Indiscretion is something more, something different from the piles of other novels on the subject. What sets this novel apart is the quality of the narration. Indiscretion is told from the perspective of Walter, a Manhattan lawyer and a man who is secretly and hopelessly in love with Maddie, which, by my count, makes four in this increasingly mis-named love triangle, though Walter remains a discreet outsider to the event unfolding though out the book, or so he says.

The lawyer in him gives the novel an objective, almost clinical tone. There is an emotionless quality to the narrative in its present tense and straightforward sentences. He neither vilified nor victimizes any of the players in the drama. He is reticent about laying blame on any particular person or event. Rather he lays out the narrative in such a way as there are no good guys or bad guys.

Indiscretion works as a novel about adultery precisely because it is banal. These sorts of stories rarely, if ever, culminate in boiled rabbits and attempted murder in the bathroom. The reality is far more protracted and mundane. It is a testament to Charles Dubow that he has written a decidedly readable novel on the subject of adultery in a manner that mirrors reality as opposed to a Hollywood fiction.

Bossypants

Bossypants

By Tina Fey

Normally you would catch me reading the autobiography of anyone still actively engaged in the profession they are known for. While I am really partial to the work of Jack White, I figure he's got far too much work still to be done to read any sort of memoir no matter how interesting his life has been so far. It's a work in progress. I'd much rather read about a person who is angling toward the end of their career as opposed to perched right in the middle. I would feel like they were feeling out the possibility of a sequel should the first half (or quarter, or, in the case of Justin Beiber... fiftieth) of their life proves interesting enough to be profitable.

But here I am, reading and now writing about Bossypants by Tina Fey, a woman at the top of her profession (comedy writing) and by all intents and purposes, someone who will remain a major player in film and television for a few decades yet (unless of course she is labelled batshit crazy when her looks go and descends into the depth of obscurity along with Tawny Kitaen and Ben from Growing Pains). One might argue, given her career trajectory thus far, that her best work is yet to come.

So what gives?

A couple of things, really.

First was an NPR interview with Tina Fey that I inadvertently listened to twice last year while running (I always listen to the metronomic voice of Terry Gross while running. She helps me maintain my pace. I accidentally loaded the same interview onto my MP3 player twice in one week. Oh well). At that point, Tina Fey was a person on the very periphery of my cultural radar. I was aware that she had done Weekend Update on Saturday Night Live and was currently the star of 30 Rock (still one of my all-time favorite shows) and that she was best known for her terrifyingly awesome impression of Sarah Palin during the 2008 American presidential election. I didn't know she was primarily a writer and had written during some of the best years in SNL history (1999-2005) and only stumbled in front of the camera on a whim. I had no idea that she was the head writer and producer of 30 Rock. But what I really didn't know was how insanely funny she seems to be, literally all the time. The interview had me laughing 7 km into a 10 km run. Anyone who has ever done any running before knows that nothing is funny at 7 km.

So I listened to the interview twice and proceeded to forget about it until a few weeks ago. It was at that point in the year when many critics were foisting their year-end best-of lists on the internet world I noticed that Bossypants seemed to end up on a significant number of them. I obviously don't read simply because of what critics write, but seeing the title and recalling the interview were enough for me to plug in the Kindle and download the sucker. I guess Chuck D would say I was believing the hype. We all have our weaknesses, Mr. D.

Mercifully, Bossypants is not your typical autobiography, which makes it totally readable for anyone isn't really into reading quickie books aimed at capitalizing on instant fame. I gather that Tina Fey is too good of a writer to simply sit down and chronicle her life from inauspicious small town Pennsylvania schoolgirl to big time Sarah Palin impersonator. She's taken the opportunity to actually write something worth reading, even it is only for the laughs (which a lot of it is). But it's not what she writes that makes this book fun to read it's what she doesn't write that makes it good.

First, she doesn't descend into bullshit celebrity gossip. I admit, this was my biggest worry. I finish everything that I read, but I think I would have broken that rule if Fey had begun taking about what an ass so-and-so was and how much so-and-so drinks and how many mountains of cocaine Charlie Sheen snorts before doing his SNL monologue. When any celebrity is mentioned in the book (and it's surprisingly few) it's always in relation to a very particular episode. There is no name-dropping (except Alex Baldwin).

There is no sentimentality. Far too many autobiographies slip into the saccharine habit of mythologizing fathers, mothers, mentors, gurus, substance abuse counsellors, hard-boiled carnies of a different era, 18th century chimney sweepers. Fey's writing style has been honed by years of improv work, sketch comedy and the rapid fire style of 30 Rock. Much of her humor is self-deprecating (my favorite kind of humor) and there is zero back-handed boasting (my least favorite kind of boasting).

It is poignant when it needs to be, but it's never preachy. Tina Fey is a woman working in what has traditionally been considered a man's industry (comedy). In what has to be the most interesting part of the book, Fey talks about the way the industry works (especially Second City in Chicago and SNL in New York) and how difficult it can be to convince the old boys that there is another, entirely forgotten stream of comedy writing that can only be tapped through the female experience (or something like that. This isn't a social science book).

What's left is an extraordinarily funny book about growing up in a typical American family in a typical American town with typical American anecdotes about typical American neuroses. The book is literally stuffed with hilarious stories, quips, one-liners and asides. And while the entire bit chronicling her fifteen minutes of massive fame due to her Sarah Palin impression is coffee-out-the-nose-in-the-middle-of-a-crowded-restaurant funny, the centerpiece of the book (in my opinion, anyway) is The Mother's Prayer for Its Daughter.

I know what you are thinking. You're thinking: "Wait! You said there wasn't any sentimentality! What gives?" Well, I think it's best I quote Tina Fey and let her demonstrate what I mean. Here is the first few lines from the prayer. You'll see what I mean and then you'll probably ask me to borrow the book:

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it's the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach's eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered,

May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half

And stick with Beer.

And that's how Bossypants rolls.