Oct 23 2008
From “Wisconsin” to the White House
I can’t remember falling so effortlessly into a book as I did this week into An American Wife (Curtis Sittenfeld). The odd thing is, the subject matter is fairly mundane–a young woman in a smalltown in Wisconsin writing about her coming of age–but before I knew it, I was a hundred pages in. In fact, I had read a short review of the book in a magazine that described it as a thinly veiled, fictionalized biography of Laura Bush, and, although the review was positive, decided initially that I wasn’t all that interested in the life and times of the First Lady. It was only later, when it was offered up for free by Amazon Vine that I reconsidered, thinking it might be a book people would be discussing. Having read it in its entirety now, I have to say that the most standout thing about the novel is the comfortable, fluid style of the the writer, making it so much easier to continue than to abandon the story.
I don’t know enough about the Bush family or Laura Bush’s heritage to know how aligned with their story this novel is. Certainly it is easy to imagine George W. with the mannerisms and dialogue of the character called Charlie Blackwell, though Blackwell’s family hails from Wisconsin. Obviously, that this president leads the country into war after a terrorist attack, and receives criticism for it is a nod to the current administration, but I don’t know whether the more personal aspects of the story are based in truth; if so, that is interesting in itself. Speculation aside, American Wife began strong, a first person account of a young woman called Alice in a small town in the 50s and 60s, who loved books, and already struggled to reconcile her desire to be independent with her desire to have a husband and children, and the traditional life she had been raised to love. Somehow, almost accidentally, it seems–although Alice would not abdicate responsibility–she ends up married to the President of the United States. She is never really comfortable with this turn of events. In fact, Alice never seems entirely comfortable with anything, but is somehow sympathetic nonetheless.
The novel is divided by addresses, rather than chapters, and runs to nearly 600 pages. For me, all was well until the final segment, the one at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, when the self-reflective memoir style seemed to deteriorate into an agitated diary of self-doubt and defensiveness. Even had the book been written in the style of a diary–it was not–the later pages would have reflected the maturity of a 60 year old woman versus the teen who began the writing, so, after such a lengthy commitment, the end was somewhat abrupt and unsatisfying. That said, I can’t remember falling so effortlessly into a book as I did this week into An American Wife…
