After twenty-one years of marriage, as their only child is about to leave for University in the fall -- and as the family is about to embark on a "Grand Tour" of Europe over the summer -- Connie turns to her husband in the middle of the night and says, "I think our marriage has run its course. Douglas, I think I want to leave you". Blindsided but hearing the tentativeness of the message, Douglas determines that the European vacation is his last chance to prove to his wife that they belong together; his last chance to forge a closer bond to the son who has always been an enigma to him.
Us is told in a first-person conversational tone by Douglas Petersen: a self-deprecating, seemingly candid, boring biochemist who, even after all these years, cannot believe that he won the heart of the free spirit artist that he married. The book skips between the present-day tale of their trip and Douglas' reminiscences of his early days with Connie, and throughout both streams, it's as though he's speaking directly to the reader ("You'll remember when I mentioned…"). This tone, the 180 enumerated entries that make up the narrative, and the self-deprecating humour made for an entirely entertaining read.
I have a perfectly fine face, eyes that may well be 'kind' but are also the brownest of browns, a reasonable-sized nose and the kind of smile that causes photographs to be thrown away.It's easy to feel sorry for Douglas: his wife and son, both "artistic types", are always aligned against him, and no matter how hard he tries to relax and go with the flow on the vacation, he's the guy with the laminated maps, the inflexible dinner reservations, the wikipedia-sourced insights into great works of art. He's the one who will rub hot chili sauce into his eyes, unwittingly book rooms in an Amsterdam sex hotel, or fall asleep in the sun; his face getting burnt to resemble the Danish flag. He's the guy who needs to schedule spontaneity:
17. notes to selfBut what saves Us from being merely a farcical romp is the slow realisation that perhaps Connie has some legitimate complaints: she fell in love with an idealistic scientist -- someone who came to life when describing the genital architecture of fruit flies -- but Douglas changed; selling out for a corporate job and insisting on trading their London flat for a country manse. If Connie aligned with their son against her husband, it was often to protect them both from his domineering pragmatism.
Some guidelines for a successful ‘Grand Tour’ of Europe:
1. Energy! Never be ‘too tired’ or ‘not in the mood’.
2. Avoid conflict with Albie. Accept light-hearted joshing and do not retaliate with malice or bitter recriminations. Good humour at all times.
3. It is not necessary to be seen to be right about everything, even when that is the case.
4. Be open-minded and willing to try new things. For example, unusual foods from unhygienic kitchens, experimental art, unusual points of view, etc.
5. Be fun. Enjoy light-hearted banter with C and A.
6. Try to relax. Don’t dwell on the future for now.
7. Be organised, but --
8. Maintain a sense of fun and spontaneity.
9. At all times be aware of Connie. Listen.
10. Try not to fight with Albie.
Raising Albie accentuated the differences between us, differences that had seemed merely entertaining in the carefree days before parenthood. She was, to my mind, absurdly informal and laissez-faire. To take an analogy from botany, she imagined a child as an unopened flower; a parent had a responsibility to provide light and water, but also to stand back and watch. 'He can do anything he wants,' she said, 'as long as he's happy and cool.' In contrast, I saw no reason why the flower should not be bracketed to a bamboo stick, pruned, exposed to artificial light; if it made for a stronger, more resilient plant, why not?This slow realisation was masterfully accomplished without making me feel cheated; a superb use of an unreliable (or at least un-self-aware) narrator. And then the ending gave me much to think about *spoiler* Connie does leave Douglas and resumes a relationship with the handsome and charismatic artist that she had broken up with just prior to meeting him; she begins to paint again. They sell their country home and Douglas ends up in a flat outside Oxford -- one furnished simply, without even any art on the walls; exactly how he lived before he met Connie. With everything resetting to right before they met -- forcing their life together to be contained within parentheses (as Douglas complains) -- the reader has to wonder, "So what was the point of the marriage?" But Connie insists that marrying Douglas was the best thing she had ever done; she has no regrets; it wasn't a mistake; it had simply run its course. And it's hard to see how her view of marriage is wrong. *end spoiler* As I said above, Us is a thoroughly entertaining read, which makes it a bit of an outlier for the Man Booker longlist. If you can get over the fact that Connie drops her bombshell about leaving on the brink of the Grand Tour -- and that the family would continue with the trip despite the looming doom -- this is the kind of book that would appeal to readers of both popular and literary fiction.
I made the following for Kennedy, because when I showed this quote to her last week, she agreed that it is a hilarious synthesis of what she's learned in her Art History classes:
Very nicely condensed. You mentioned art in cement. Was that a reference to her grandmother? :-))No, Ma, David Nicholls doesn't know anything about your cement lawn ornament course...
Also interesting: Dave and I have had a similar conversation about our kids' futures as did Douglas and Connie, but because we're not as different from each other as they are, the conversations were different, too. Them:
We were pacing around the kitchen, furiously tidying up, by which I mean tidying up, furious. Wine had been drunk and it was late, the end of a long, fraught argument that, as was his way, Albie had provoked then fled from. ‘Don’t you see?’ said Connie, hurling cutlery at the drawer. ‘Even if it’s hard, he has to try! If he loves it, we have to let him try. Why must you always have to stomp on his dreams?’
‘I’ve got nothing against his dreams as long as they’re attainable.’
‘But if they’re attainable they’re not dreams!’
‘And that’s why it’s a waste of time!’ I said. ‘The problem with telling people that they can do anything they want to do is that it is objectively, factually inaccurate. Otherwise the whole world would just be ballet dancers and pop stars.’
‘He doesn’t want to be a pop star, he wants to take photographs.’
‘My point still stands. It is simply not true that you can achieve anything if you love it enough – it just isn’t. Life has limitations and the sooner he faces up to this fact then the better off he’ll be!’
Well, that’s what I said. I believed I had my son’s best interests at heart. That was why I was so vocal, because I wanted him to have a secure professional life, a good life. Listening up in his bedroom, no doubt he had caught all of my words and none of my intention.
Still, the argument was not my finest moment. I had become shrill and dogmatic, but even so I was surprised to discover that Connie was standing still, wrist pressed to her forehead.
‘When did it start, Douglas?’ she said. ‘When did you start to drain the passion out of everything?’
And us, after taking Mallory on a University campus tour:
'So we've got one kid studying Theatre and Art History, and the other one wants to do Anthropology now? How did that happen?' says Dave.
'Probably because we filled their childhoods with live theatre and trips to museums.'
'So, now it's our fault they're not practical?'
'Yeah, we should have taken them on more tours of ditches.'
'Seriously, should we try to make them more practical about the future?'
'You mean like your parents did when they supported your arts degree?'
'Yeah,' Dave sighs. 'Like that.'
Follow your passions, girls; somehow, the bills will get paid.
