“The End of the Road” by John Barth

I don’t even know what to think about this book.

Jacob "Jake" Horner has been under the care of a doctor for Remobilization Therapy for the past two years. (What is Remobilization Therapy, you may ask? It is intended to resolve Jake's inability to make a decision, which is severe enough that it rendered him practically catatonic in a train station for more than a day.) Now twenty-eight, and having floated between temporary jobs throughout his therapy, his doctor has told him to take a teaching position at Wicomico State Teacher's College in Maryland. So he does. 

There Jake meets fellow teacher Joe Morgan and his wife Rennie. Joe and Jake are both highly intelligent, but beyond that they are opposites: married vs single, a parent vs childless, but most importantly, their ways of thinking are diametrically opposed. Joe is decisive and opinionated, sees everything in black and white, and wants everything defined and discussed. He has a very strong (if strange) identity. Whereas for Jake, all of life is a gray area. He avoids making decisions, is impossible to pin down in a debate because he has no strongly-held beliefs, and when asked what he thinks about something, his most frequent answer is "I don't know"--not because he finds it difficult to express what he thinks, but because he just doesn't think about that thing. He has an almost complete absence of identity.

I usually try to avoid spoilers in my blog posts, but I'm just going to lay it all out for this one, partly because it was written decades ago so it's not likely that you've been waiting all this time for just the right moment to read this book, and partly because I'm a bit baffled and maybe I'll figure something out as I type. So here we go. Jake, Joe and Rennie become close friends, spending a lot of time together and having deep philosophical conversations that mostly just flew right over my head. Then one night when Joe is out of town, with no preamble or even much of a hint of sexual tension, Jake and Rennie end up in bed together--Jake because he's just going with the flow and not making any decisions, and Rennie because--well, I don't know that she ever gives a reason, but afterwards she's definitely regretful. After a few agonizing days, she confesses to Joe, who reacts in a very Joe way and wants to understand the motives behind their betrayal. He obviously finds it very unsatisfying that Jake can't provide any explanation. So Joe basically decides to force Jake and Rennie to continue their affair until they can come up with an explanation . . . and after a month or so, Rennie ends up pregnant, but there's no way to know who the father is . . . and she ends up dying from aspiration of vomit while under ether for an abortion performed by Jake's Remobilization Therapist. And I was left thinking, WTF was all of that? I feel sure it was rife with symbolism and allegory, but I'm not sure what the hidden meaning was. The whole thing left me feeling a bit unsettled and off balance. And (if you're ready for an embarrassing confession) it didn't help that throughout most of the book I had conflated John Barth with Roland Barthes. 

So I'll wrap up with a thought about the ending. While abortion is not what this book is about, it's obviously a major plot point, and it portrays a horrifying experience that leaves a woman dead. Here's what I find interesting: I know that some people would read this and say, see, this is why women shouldn’t be allowed to have abortions. But others would read this and say, see, this is why abortion should be legal . . . so that it can safely be performed by a trained doctor rather than a Remobilization Therapist.

“The Red House Mystery” by A. A. Milne

Next up in the line of Paperbacks To Shed was much more enjoyable. Did you know that A. A. Milne wrote more than just Winnie the Pooh? I was vaguely aware of this, but had never read anything of his other than Pooh, When We Were Very Young, and Now We Are Six. So I didn't know what to expect from Milne's writing for adults, although I guessed it was possible he would be shockingly raunchy and I might never be able to look at that silly old bear the same way again. 

Thankfully, The Red House Mystery is a cozy one, much in the vein of Agatha Christie (which, as you know, is right up my alley), so Pooh is safe. This is the story of a very English house party during a (maybe not so English) hot summer week. Host Mark Ablett's estranged brother Robert returns from Australia, is found dead in Mark's office only minutes after he arrives, and Mark has disappeared. Four of the houseguests scarper to avoid the awkwardness (but no matter, their alibis were airtight); two remain to solve the mystery. At first it seems obvious that Mark was the killer and is now on the run, but as Antony Gillingham collects clues with the aid of his Watson, William Beverley, they begin to realize things are not as simple as they seem. I guessed the solution long before Tony and Bill did, but that was part of the fun. 

While I was left with much happier feelings about this book than the one I finished the day before, I was happy to shed it as well, and do not plan to buy a nicer copy.

“The French Lieutenant’s Woman” by John Fowles

The last time we went away for a week, I only brought two books, and it was very nearly a disaster. I’d been trying to pack light (at which I succeeded) and also trying to be reasonable about the amount of time I would have available for reading (at which I failed—or, viewed from another perspective, maybe I was too reasonable). 

This time I brought six books (albeit short-ish ones, and paperbacks only, so they would not take up too much space in—or add too much weight to—my luggage). And I purposely chose old, humdrum editions that I would not want as part of my collection after reading (if I really loved the story and wanted to possess the book forever, I would buy a nicer copy). This way I could shed weight as I went, leaving a trail of books behind me. (Which, I have just realized, would be the best superpower ever.)

Up until now, I have enjoyed all of my John Fowles reading experiences (of which there have been at least three), but I will decidedly not be buying a nicer copy of The French Lieutenant's Woman. Unsurprisingly, the writing was great, and the story was absorbing enough. It starts with a betrothed Victorian couple, Charles and Ernestina, strolling along the seaside in Lyme Regis and gossiping about Tragedy, the miserable young woman all in black who has scandalized the town by pining over a French sailor. It ends with everyone being miserable (including me). The advanced praise at the beginning of the book promised the story would grab me from the first page (it didn't) and a sex scene so steamy that it would, like, cause my head to explode or something (skull is still intact). But even if I hadn't had too-high expectations, I think this book would have fallen flat for me.

I do understand that the story is meant to be a social commentary on Victorian repression, but I just can't grasp the character of Sarah Woodruff. I don't understand her or her motivations, and I don't identify with her at all. What did she want? What was she trying to achieve? Did she just decide she didn't want it after all, or was it not what she expected, or did she feel she didn't deserve happiness (but if not, why not?), or was she just completely perverse in a way that I can't wrap my mind around?

I’m just angry.

Ugh.