They do
A novel I picked from the library many weeks ago, with an attitude of "Well, why not?"
After two years of illness, Enrique's wife Margaret is ready to die. Astute and methodical as ever, she begins to make the arrangements - choosing a church for funeral services, picking the outfit to be buried in, and not least, saying goodbye to all her dear friends and relations. As Enrique dutifully carries out these requests, he feels powerless to admit how afraid he is that he won't get to say all he needs to say before Margaret passes on. Having lived through 30 years of marriage, 30 years of good times and bad, of misunderstandings, of indiscretions minor and major, what can he possibly say? Enrique knows now what he only dimly suspected when he first met Margaret in his turbulent early twenties: that Margaret helped make his life work in a way he couldn't have predicted.
I hope I'm not giving anything away when I say that the title is in no way ironic. The novel's sincerity is one of its best attractions, without drowning it in sentimentality. This quiet, honest look at a marriage gone (eventually) right is meditative in tone while still carrying a decently fleshed-out narrative. We see Enrique and Margaret when they first meet in 1970s New York, when a friend tells Enrique that she's out of his league; here, Margaret is a dominant personality with an independent streak. We see a 50-year-old Enrique taking care of a more frail Margaret in 2004, as Margaret relies more on her husband. The quick-tempered, sensitive man and the iron-clad, type A woman may not last long together on paper - and there was indeed one close call - but sometimes love really does go a long way. At least, as long as people can discover their flaws and adjust accordingly.
Yglesias's wife did actually pass away in 2004, as the dust jacket reveals, and this information proves to be distracting, introspective, and comforting. His characters feel like real people, whose actions are connected to their personalities and world views. The gradual change that both Enrique and Margaret undergo feels real - nothing radical, but lifelike and tangible. Clearly Yglesias's experiences are doing much more good than harm; even the knowledge of Margaret's impending death doesn't detract from the grace of the bittersweet ending.
The plot takes its time, so this is best read when in a contemplative mood. Still, an excellent and modest read. Rating: 4.5 orphan dinners out of 5.
I hope I'm not giving anything away when I say that the title is in no way ironic. The novel's sincerity is one of its best attractions, without drowning it in sentimentality. This quiet, honest look at a marriage gone (eventually) right is meditative in tone while still carrying a decently fleshed-out narrative. We see Enrique and Margaret when they first meet in 1970s New York, when a friend tells Enrique that she's out of his league; here, Margaret is a dominant personality with an independent streak. We see a 50-year-old Enrique taking care of a more frail Margaret in 2004, as Margaret relies more on her husband. The quick-tempered, sensitive man and the iron-clad, type A woman may not last long together on paper - and there was indeed one close call - but sometimes love really does go a long way. At least, as long as people can discover their flaws and adjust accordingly.
Yglesias's wife did actually pass away in 2004, as the dust jacket reveals, and this information proves to be distracting, introspective, and comforting. His characters feel like real people, whose actions are connected to their personalities and world views. The gradual change that both Enrique and Margaret undergo feels real - nothing radical, but lifelike and tangible. Clearly Yglesias's experiences are doing much more good than harm; even the knowledge of Margaret's impending death doesn't detract from the grace of the bittersweet ending.
The plot takes its time, so this is best read when in a contemplative mood. Still, an excellent and modest read. Rating: 4.5 orphan dinners out of 5.
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