New Yorker Fiction Review #157: "Dido's Lament" by Tessa Hadley
Story from the August 8th & 15th issue of The New Yorker...
Two reviews in one day? What?? Believe it. And with the double issue, I've fast-forwarded three weeks in less than 12 hours. And am only 3.5 months behind now. But I digress...
I am not a big Tessa Hadley fan. That doesn't mean I can't recognize game when I see it. All the same, I am not a fan. Her (mostly female) main characters tend to be dainty, self-possessed, a bit haughty, and even somewhat timid; people whom life or some lover has passed by while they were absorbed in their own pain, wounded pride, or self-centered myopia...not unlike a lot of people who call or have once called themselves artists at one time or another and/or those who have yet to grow up. So, for anyone who has spent any amount of their life feeling that way (as I have, I admit), Hadley's characters will be somewhat relatable but, all the same, a bit to delicate for me.
When the main action of the story (as in "Dido's Lament") is the main character slipping and falling as she leaves -- unnoticed, mind you, and without any real romantic confrontation -- the house of a former lover, you can perhaps see what kind of snooze-fest we are dealing with. A well-written snooze-fest. But a snooze-fest all the same. I mean, it has the word "lament" in the title. Just kill me.
If Tessa Hadley's fiction were itself a person, it would be a vaguely-sniffly middle-aged woman curled up on a sofa in a drafty old English farmhouse on a rainy day, covered by an Afghan blanket, with a scarf around her neck, sipping chamomile tea and reading a dusty old copy of Anna Karenina for the fifth time, pausing now and then to put the book down and remember her long-lost love, Harold, or Bernard, or Tom, whom she loved ardently in her 20s but after whom she never found it within herself to love again.
Two reviews in one day? What?? Believe it. And with the double issue, I've fast-forwarded three weeks in less than 12 hours. And am only 3.5 months behind now. But I digress...
I am not a big Tessa Hadley fan. That doesn't mean I can't recognize game when I see it. All the same, I am not a fan. Her (mostly female) main characters tend to be dainty, self-possessed, a bit haughty, and even somewhat timid; people whom life or some lover has passed by while they were absorbed in their own pain, wounded pride, or self-centered myopia...not unlike a lot of people who call or have once called themselves artists at one time or another and/or those who have yet to grow up. So, for anyone who has spent any amount of their life feeling that way (as I have, I admit), Hadley's characters will be somewhat relatable but, all the same, a bit to delicate for me.
When the main action of the story (as in "Dido's Lament") is the main character slipping and falling as she leaves -- unnoticed, mind you, and without any real romantic confrontation -- the house of a former lover, you can perhaps see what kind of snooze-fest we are dealing with. A well-written snooze-fest. But a snooze-fest all the same. I mean, it has the word "lament" in the title. Just kill me.
If Tessa Hadley's fiction were itself a person, it would be a vaguely-sniffly middle-aged woman curled up on a sofa in a drafty old English farmhouse on a rainy day, covered by an Afghan blanket, with a scarf around her neck, sipping chamomile tea and reading a dusty old copy of Anna Karenina for the fifth time, pausing now and then to put the book down and remember her long-lost love, Harold, or Bernard, or Tom, whom she loved ardently in her 20s but after whom she never found it within herself to love again.
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