Eleven days ago, I happened upon an interesting looking book on a cart of book donations. I have a thing for "return when done" books because three or four titles often end up on my nightstand at any given time, and I can linger among them as long as I like. "The Art of Mending," by Elizabeth Berg, seemed mildly appealing, with its cover depicting lush quilting fabrics and its no-doubt metaphorical title. Several hours later in my workday, I had almost finished this intense, profound, yet gentle story of siblings disconnected in childhood by hidden parental abuse.
I have an uncanny knack for connecting with books that teach me what I both need to learn and am ready to handle at opportune times; these books are also entertaining, in the most satisfying and profound sense. It's a Zen sort of thing....the books almost literally fall into my hands off some remainder table or are rescued from gathering dust on the bottom shelf of the Friends of the Library cart. Although there is loss and death and sadness in these novels, the protagonist is usually triumphant or wiser or enriched and gifted in some small or large way by the close. There is usually sweet connection too, born of pain and struggle. And there is grace, a strong sense of grace.
As soon as I finished "The Art of Mending," I was off to the library to see what other Berg novels I could gather. Yahoo! There are twelve in all, each with a metaphorical, memorable title such as "Durable Goods," "Until the Real Thing Comes Along," and "Never Change." I read Berg's first novel next, "Durable Goods," a painfully poignant tale of a young girl growing up on military bases with a harsh, abusive father and an older sister. Berg doesn't write as a young girl; she becomes that fourteen year old girl, emerging each day through the pain of growing up with an unapproachably hard father, a sympathetic yet preoccupied older sister, and a deceased mother with a spunky, hopeful optimism that never rings false or Polyannaish.
The next title I devoured was "Until the Real Thing Comes Along." This is a novel of impossible love, the love between a gay man and a straight woman who decide to conceive a child and play house in spite of their explicitly different sexual orientations. It's also a story of friendship, maternal longing, and at times, a bit of a farce.
Each of the Berg novels I have read so far has an underlying theme of parental abuse or neglect, sometimes in relation to the protagonist, sometimes relating to a minor character. There is also a strongly though sometimes subtly repeated theme of inner versus outer beauty, the opposing forces of chosen versus fate-driven isolation, and the difficulty of living with another person at midlife.
In "Never Change," Berg's protagonist is a mousy looking woman of fifty-one who has felt like an ugly duckling all her life. This strikes me as fascinating given the many different photos of Berg on each jacket flap; she is a radiantly, naturally beautiful woman whose black and white image stuns this viewer as Berg peers out of her two-inch frame.
Reading Elizabeth Berg has been like keeping a box of Joseph Schmidt chocolate truffles in the house. Self-control is not an option. If they're under my roof, I will read them! I thank the Universe for presenting me with a bad cold these last few days. They have been days filled with Berg characters.
And I have eight more to go!
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