Commonwealth
by Ann Patchett
Sometimes when I’m reviewing a beach read, I’ll say, “I recommend this, but only when you’re in the mood for it.” That bears repeating for Commonwealth, a very heavy domestic drama that’s certainly not for everyone. I liked it, but only because of Ann Patchett’s talent.
Jeanette was MIA. No one had noticed she was gone, but Franny’s cat Buttercup was missing as well. Buttercup had not come to the door to greet Franny as surely she would have after two weeks away. Buttercup, the lifeline to normalcy, was gone. Beverly, drowning in the sea of child-life, had no clear memory of the last time she’d seen the cat, but Franny’s sudden, paralyzing sobs prompted her to do a thorough search of the house. Beverly found Jeanette beneath a comforter on the floor in the back of the linen closet (how long had Jeanette been missing?). She was petting the sleeping cat.
“She can’t have my cat!” Franny cried, and Beverly leaned down and took the cat from Jeanette, who hung on for only half a second and then let go. The entire time Albie followed Beverly around the house doing what the children referred to as ‘the stripper soundtrack’.
[…]
Albie was in the dining room. She could hear him singing through the kitchen door. His single-pointed focus was astounding. Franny was in the living room, pulling the cat’s front legs through the armholes of a doll’s dress and crying so quietly that her mother was sure that every single thing she had ever done in her life up until that moment was a mistake.
There was no place to go, no place to get away from them, not even the linen closet because Jeanette hadn’t come out of the linen closet since surrendering the cat. Beverly took the car keys and went outside.
I’ve never read such a realistic depiction of having to deal with children; it personifies one of the main reasons I don’t want to become a mother. Commonwealth is riddled with realism, so much that it’s often painful. The opening chapter immediately hooks the reader in as we see what is supposed to be a christening party turn into a drunken debacle. The next chapter fast-forwards decades—the continual time-jumping is the only part of the book I didn’t like—and we learn that the marriage featured in the first chapter ended in divorce. The book is the poster child for “divorce messes up your kids” and strips the subject raw; I doubt anyone who’s gotten a divorce with young children can get through this book. There’s actually a passage in the book where the protagonist chronicles all the problems she’s lived through in her life and traces them back to her parent’s divorce, realizing that if she’s grown up in a one-family household, she would have had an infinitely better life. It’s very sad.
Not only is the subject matter dark and depressing, but Patchett’s writing style isn’t for everyone, so make sure you’re in the mood for this book before you pick it up. I really didn’t like time lapses between chapters, but her writing made me forgive the lazy shortcuts. Read the first chapter; if you’re riveted by the fast-paced tone that’s simultaneously conversational, amused, and cynical, you’ll like the rest of the book. If it’s too dialogue-heavy and detail-oriented for you, you’re not going to like it. This is the kind of book that shows you every detail of one snippet of someone’s life, then cuts to thirty years later and does the same thing.
Jeanette was MIA. No one had noticed she was gone, but Franny’s cat Buttercup was missing as well. Buttercup had not come to the door to greet Franny as surely she would have after two weeks away. Buttercup, the lifeline to normalcy, was gone. Beverly, drowning in the sea of child-life, had no clear memory of the last time she’d seen the cat, but Franny’s sudden, paralyzing sobs prompted her to do a thorough search of the house. Beverly found Jeanette beneath a comforter on the floor in the back of the linen closet (how long had Jeanette been missing?). She was petting the sleeping cat.
“She can’t have my cat!” Franny cried, and Beverly leaned down and took the cat from Jeanette, who hung on for only half a second and then let go. The entire time Albie followed Beverly around the house doing what the children referred to as ‘the stripper soundtrack’.
[…]
Albie was in the dining room. She could hear him singing through the kitchen door. His single-pointed focus was astounding. Franny was in the living room, pulling the cat’s front legs through the armholes of a doll’s dress and crying so quietly that her mother was sure that every single thing she had ever done in her life up until that moment was a mistake.
There was no place to go, no place to get away from them, not even the linen closet because Jeanette hadn’t come out of the linen closet since surrendering the cat. Beverly took the car keys and went outside.
I’ve never read such a realistic depiction of having to deal with children; it personifies one of the main reasons I don’t want to become a mother. Commonwealth is riddled with realism, so much that it’s often painful. The opening chapter immediately hooks the reader in as we see what is supposed to be a christening party turn into a drunken debacle. The next chapter fast-forwards decades—the continual time-jumping is the only part of the book I didn’t like—and we learn that the marriage featured in the first chapter ended in divorce. The book is the poster child for “divorce messes up your kids” and strips the subject raw; I doubt anyone who’s gotten a divorce with young children can get through this book. There’s actually a passage in the book where the protagonist chronicles all the problems she’s lived through in her life and traces them back to her parent’s divorce, realizing that if she’s grown up in a one-family household, she would have had an infinitely better life. It’s very sad.
Not only is the subject matter dark and depressing, but Patchett’s writing style isn’t for everyone, so make sure you’re in the mood for this book before you pick it up. I really didn’t like time lapses between chapters, but her writing made me forgive the lazy shortcuts. Read the first chapter; if you’re riveted by the fast-paced tone that’s simultaneously conversational, amused, and cynical, you’ll like the rest of the book. If it’s too dialogue-heavy and detail-oriented for you, you’re not going to like it. This is the kind of book that shows you every detail of one snippet of someone’s life, then cuts to thirty years later and does the same thing.