We Need to Talk About We Need to Talk About Kevin

Sam and Crystal recently made me read a book. By made me read a book, I mean that they hurried me through the book I was reading (Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie) with questions about how long it would be until I started the other book and then, once I'd started this other book began demanding progress reports on it. That other book is We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver.

Today I finished it. And the first thing I said as I put it down was, "I feel harassed by this book." And that harrassment has nothing to do with my two overenthusiastic book clubbers. It has to do with the book itself.

People in fiction rarely do what you think they should do. Sam always says this to her classes. If they did what they should do, what you can see is best for them, there would be no plot. The story would not exist because, as the titular Kevin points out, nobody wants to read a book or watch a movie about someone who does what they ought to, flosses and gets an A in geometry. Still, it's rare that I'll pick up a book with things so obviously and already out of the realm of good behavior. We Need to Talk About Kevin is about a boy who commits a school shooting.

Or, really, it's about his mother. It's written from her point of view and is one of the few very successful epistolary novels that I've read. Shriver seems to make a point of avoiding the obvious heart-wrenching, the sappy tear-jerking that could have made the book a weak, ripped-from-the-headlines template for a Lifetime movie. Still, it is the book's harshness, its lack of wallowing that make it instead harrowing. Eva Katchadourian doesn't spare herself in her own portrayal. She paints her decision to have Kevin as the whim of a diletante whose reasons are couched in ideological drivel. But this kind of enthusiasm for her son is wiped away soon after his birth, and she's forced to become a sort of 20th century Cassandra in the face of her husband's obstinate obliviousness about their son's lack of affect.

And that may be the most horrifying thing about what I can only label a horror novel. From his birth, Kevin is uninterested in everything. Shriver crafts a caustic and infuriating tale of a mother striving to punish for his misdeeds a child who has no attachment to anything. Who will not admit to liking anything in particular. Who has no favorite toy. No favorite TV show. Who will not eat in sight because he dislikes having anyone witness the fact that he needs to do so. I don't think I've ever quite realized how absolutely scary a sociopath is.

But I guess the part that feels most like harrassment is the tight arc of the plot. From the minute you begin the book, no tangent or memory or prison visiting room scene strays far from Kevin's magnum opus, Thursday. By the time you get there, inevitability is almost a tangible thing. And yet there are surprises. That sense of foreboding throughout the book is not just rewarded by the things you are certain are coming.

And I guess that is my recommendation for this book. Having finished it feels like what I imagine emerging from a sensory deprivation room must feel like. It is gripping and insightful. Shriver's discussion of Americanism takes on the lofty liberal pose of detachment and delves into questions of why these things happen and why they happen here. It is a great book and like most great books is both hard to read and hard to put down.

I guess I should say thanks to Sam and Crystal. Thanks a lot.

Place Your Bets...

Through some bizarre twist of fate, I agreed to be a bridesmaid twice in the month of September. The phrase always a bridesmaid, never a bride may have set up shop in the back of my mind, but I am not disheartened.

I see this as an opportunity. Babetteers, welcome to...

DRESS WAR: SEPTEMBER SHOWDOWN

Do not underestimate either of these dresses. I will be filling them out quite nicely. It's up to you to determine which one will win in this no-holds-barred bridesmaid dress beatdown. The winning dress will 1) inspire cute groomsmen to give me their phone numbers, 2) obscure how much I sweat when I'm dancing at the reception, and 3) allow itself to be recycled for another formal occasion. Start placing your bets now. I'll announce the winner at the end of September 2007...

Contender #1: Money Money

Strengths: resistant to flame; good at math; kind to animals; diplomatic; well-spoken; demonstrates a knowledge of fine wines; independently wealthy; endows wearer with powers of telekinesis, telepathy, and pastry-making

Weaknesses: asthmatic; bad at grammar; cannot hold liquor; never carries enough cash for a decent tip; cannot speak Urdu; does not endow wearer with powers of flirtation or the ability to fly

Contender #2: The Marine Dream

Strengths: strong knees; can double as life raft; feminist; can run to speeds of up to 35 mph; speed-reading; three-time national spelling-bee winner; endows wearer with the ability to perform open-heart surgery with a toothpick

Weaknesses: miserly; made completely of granulated sugar; passionately opposes theory of evolution; fails to vote in the presidential elections; does not endow wearer with the power to fill awkward silences or the ability to transform water into wine

Solo

I can't say I wasn't a little pleased when Stephanie told me she was going out of town for the Easter holiday. You see, Babetteers, I'm a loner... a rebel. I looked forward to the time I would spend alone being superbadass and cool.

And like any superbadass rebel, I made a list of things to do in my roommate's absence. What could I do that would irritate her if I did it in her presence? What could I do to make her jealous?

1. Let the cat do whatever he wants to do.
2. Watch horror movies and stand-up comedy in the living room.
3. Eat weird vegetarian food for both lunch and dinner.
4. Turn on all the lamps in the apartment.
5. Refuse to wear pants.
6. Throw a huge party.
7. Eat the rest of the Girl Scout cookies.

I tell you, friends, that list is the blueprint for mayhem, mayhem, mayhem with a dash of debauchery. And you would think this Saturday night would find me lying in a pile of cookie crumbs and soy chunks while strangers dance to the opening music to Wanda Sykes' stand-up routine.

And you'd be thinking wrong. Here's how my weekend of rebellion and badassery is shaping up:

1. The cat already does what he wants--and he wants to shred my couch with his claws.

2. I rented "The Return" with Sarah Michelle Gellar, and my spine failed to be tingled, and my bumps were never goosed. Further, I think Stephanie would have enjoyed the Chappelle routine. I'll return it after she gets back.

3. I haven't had the time or energy to stop by the grocery store, so I've been eating leftover honey chicken and cold turkey loaf.

4. The light hurts my eyes.

5. The unexpected temperature drop makes it less than comfy to stroll around the house without my thickest pair of pajama pants on.

6. I've had one guest. She fell asleep on the couch.

7. And after eating all that honey chicken, I barely have tummy room for more than two cookies.

So, maybe I'm not really a loner. Perhaps I even miss the other half of the Point of Babette. That doesn't make me any less superbadass and cool. It just means Stephanie needs to come home before I make her cat re-upholster my couch.