The Portable Veblen

Veblen espoused the Veblenian opinion that wanting a big house full of cheaply produced versions of so-called luxury items was the greatest soul-sucking trap of modern civilization, and that these copycat mansions away from the heart and soul of a city had ensnared their overmortgaged owners – yes, trapped and relocated them like pests.

When I went to add this book to my Goodreads account, I discovered that The Portable Veblen is both the title of this novel by Elizabeth McKenzie and the title of a collection of essays written by Thorstein Veblen (whom Wikipedia soon informed me was a turn-of-the-twentieth-century economist, anti-capitalist, and coiner of such phrases as “conspicuous consumption” and “conspicuous leisure”). This is not incidental: the main character of the novel is Veblen Amundsen-Hovda, a woman “in the slim green spring of her life”, who was raised with Veblenian values; a woman who consults a portrait of Thorstein Veblen in her hallway when things around her get sticky. And things get sticky often. With a manipulative, hypochondriac mother and an institutionalised father, Veblen has played a burdensome role as peacekeeper and nursemaid for her entire life, and as she has finally found the man that she would settle down with, Veblen worries about how much of her nutty past she has yet to reveal to her upstanding and normal-seeming fiance.

In spite of her cheerfulness in the presence of others, one could see this woman had gone through something that had left its mark. Sometimes her reactions seemed to happen in slow motion, like old, calloused manatees moving through murky water. At least, that's how she'd once tried to explain it to the psychiatrist who dispensed her medications. Sometimes she wondered if she had some kind of processing disorder. Or maybe it was just a defense mechanism. One could see she was bruised by all the dodging that comes of the furtive meeting of one's needs.

The fiance – Paul Vreeland – is a prominent neurosurgeon at Stanford, and he and Veblen form a fast and deep connection; deciding to marry after only four months. While at first Veblen thought that she and Paul shared the same values, when a device that Paul invents attracts the attention of the Pharma-Military-Industrial Complex – and his head gets filled with dreams of big houses and boats – Veblen begins to second guess their relationship. Meanwhile, Paul has been harbouring secrets of his own: his brother suffers from some sort of brain disorder and his parents are pot-dealing hippies who once flirted with nudism:

You're in fifth grade and suddenly you start seeing your mother naked all the time? And your dad too? And your older brother? Sitting cross-legged on the floor? Walking around, leaning over, reaching for things in cupboards? Grotesque.

This is a very quirky book and Veblen is a totally unique and unpredictable character – just when you think you've got a handle on her, you discover that she's had a life-long fascination with squirrels. Not only can she recite amazing facts about the horizon filling million squirrel migrations that early settlers witnessed, but it is eventually revealed that Veblen was such a lonely child that she had invented a fantasy world (called Wobb) where she conversed with squirrels (in Wibobbean, nibaturally) learning about the teachings of Nutkins and the Nutkinistas. When Veblen starts talking with squirrels in the present (and knowing that her father is a locked up fantasist), the reader joins in on her mother's concerns. And should Veblen even be with someone like Paul who thinks that the rational response to squirrels in the attic is a humane trap and relocation? The nerve!

The Portable Veblen won't be for everyone – it skates the line between charming and precious – and I found it to be a curious title to find amongst the other (decidedly more serious) books on this year's Bailey's Prize shortlist. But I liked it. Quite a lot. I enjoyed the quirk and the humour and the slow revelations of Veblen's and Paul's histories – what does a normal family look like after all? But you can take my opinion with a grain of salt: I just sent these to my mother for her birthday (because we're a normal family) – 

I am delighted that The Glorious Heresies won the Bailey's Prize: the best of an uneven but respectable shortlist; here in my ranking order.

The 2016 Bailey's Prize shortlist:

Lisa McInerney: The Glorious Heresies
Anne Enright: The Green Road
Elizabeth McKenzie: The Portable Veblen
Cynthia Bond: Ruby
Hannah Rothschild: The Improbability of Love
Hanya Yanagihara: A Little Life