Jul
28
Every so often, I take a break from my regular fiction reads, and delve into a bit of chick lit for a “mental break.” At the beginning of the year, I read Getting Rid of Matthew, and was so surprised with the read, that I considered optioning the book. (But stopped when I learned that the author is a celebrity in the UK, and figured the rights must have been bought up as part of the book publishing deal.)
Recently, I read another British author’s version of being a thirties-single something (no reason why I keep going to Brit books; I think they just have the most interesting book covers) and was equally impressed. The Egg Race by Polly Williams. At one point in the read, the story made me stop, sit up (in bed) and have a think. And then, a revelation.
There’s no “elation” in relationsham.
The star of the book, Stevie Johnson, finds herself dedicated to her new husband, Jez, who is stopping himself from acting on his feelings for Katy Norris, who Stevie dislikes ever since Katy swooped Stevie’s childhood crush, Sam, away from Stevie, which Stevie still pines for (Sam, that is; and Sam does too, for Stevie, but the timing never seems to be right, like Stevie’s nuptials for example) but will not admit to because, yes, she is married, but also because, Stevie has set Sam up with her best friend, (like that ever helps squelch ages-long feelings!) who I would tell you the name of, but I can’t remember it now for the life of me. Did I mention Katy has a boyfriend, Seb, who’s not interested in her “kept” figure? I’d say it adds to the story, but it mostly makes you want to get up and stuff yourself with champers and chocolate – out of sheer spite – so I won’t give it too much attention here.
The point I’m trying to get to is this. Towards the end of the book, it is Stevie’s sister Poppy, married young with three children, and still a unit with husband, who is able to tell Stevie why her relationship with her husband, Jez, has failed. To paraphrase Poppy’s opinion –and avoid any copyright issues ( see page 341 of the hardcover edition) – it was because Stevie didn’t love Jez. Stevie loved Jez enough, but not enough to get hurt. Not enough to fall apart should Jez leave.
And well, that’s it, really. Relationsham in a nutshell. No, an eggshell, if you will.
Where is the love in relationsham? Where is the joy? The butterflies? The delight? The ecstasy? If we all just picked people we love enough, but nothing more, are we really loving? Enough so we don’t get hurt? Enough so we don’t ever really love? How will we ever gain those years of “loving enough”? Years of just the motions, but never the feeling?
Yes, for many women, it very well could be an “egg race” (the book barely explores this issue despite its title) but that doesn’t necessarily mean women should operate on autopilot. To do so would miss the point. Miss out on love.
In The Egg Race, relationships come full circle. Fiction offers Stevie Johnson a second chance. A new point to start from. A new point not to miss.
Reality, on the other hand, assuredly offers uncertainty only. An ending that feels unjust, unclear; always unpredictable and unscripted. With one exception: a pregnant pause to an overly absorbing blog post.
IMAGE | Damien Hirst | from the series of the 1991 exhibition, In and Out of Love.
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i’ve been reading vintage romance novels, when i have a moment to do any reading. this sound like something i need to put at the top of my list. perhaps a long weekend read. i’m completely intrigued by the messiness of it all.
It’s messy and cute. It will not disappoint. Love to know your thoughts when you’ve had a chance to read the book.
well well well… I agree with your assessment, and maybe that’s why I’m still (relatively) single. I see that this book features an emotionally-unavailable woman (in pop-psych terms) but I have met many more emotionally-unavailable men, who are really afraid to put it all out on the line. I have definitely left relationshams because I knew the guy wouldn’t fight to keep me around. I was good enough and that wasn’t good enough for me.
p.s. there is no way a man could be named “Jez” in a North American novel, it’s just too close to …
Hilarious! You’re right. At one point, I was wondering if “Jez” was going to be a literary device of some kind. But really, not in this book.
Good to know that you’ve jumped the relationsham ship. Your words are the exact kind of thing to live by, all the time.