A Passion for Fashion and Family

You know that I loved Jennifer Weiner's novels Big Summer and That Summer.  So of course I was looking forward to the third installment in this not-quite-a-trilogy tribute to the most wonderful time of the year (sorry not sorry, Andy Williams).  Even if some of the things that happen are more sun-streaked sad than beach read.  This last book, The Summer Place, is no different, a bittersweet family drama about the road not taken.  Each of Weiner's characters comes to a crossroads, forced to choose and then wonder what might have been.  Their destinies are intertwined in peculiar yet believable ways, creating the kind of irresistible suspense that makes this novel such a page turner.  Yet it's a passage about almost-concert-pianist-turned-music-teacher Sarah's love for -- what else? -- clothes that I find most captivating:

"Sarah's job at the music school had no dress code.  If she'd wanted to, she could have worn jeans and blouses, or even T-shirts and sneakers to work.  But Sarah loved clothes.  She loved finding new boutiques and discovering new designers; she loved the feeling of buying the perfect azure-blue necklace to wear with a new navy-blue dress, and a pair of vintage leather riding boots to pull the look together.  Even the clothes she didn't wear made her happy.  She'd brush the sleeve of the pale-pink cashmere sweater she'd worn on her second date with Eli and feel, again, the first flush of infatuation; she'd flick past the black gown she'd worn for her last recital and feel a bittersweet pang.  She loved the challenge of putting together an outfit, searching out each individual piece, shopping her closet, combining old and new.  Getting dressed was its own kind of creativity, and it satisfied her in the same primal way she imagined gathering a perfect sheaf of wheat or an unblemished handful of berries might have delighted her hunting and gathering forebearers." (121)   

Weiner gets this exactly right, elevating Sarah's -- and women's -- passion for fashion to an artform.  It's as reverent as it is whimsical and sentimental.  The setup (which really, I should've started with) is that Sarah's husband Eli, who drives her crazy during quarantine, goes on a decluttering kick that involves tossing some of her most prized possessions, the things that make her feel like her.  Knowing this makes Sarah's wardrobe seem even more -- not to get all Narnia on you -- magical.    

Speaking of which, it's the magic of being true to oneself that ties the tie-dyed ribbons of The Summer Place together.  Even when, especially when, following one's heart leads to family conflicts.  Weiner shows us that having it all isn't possible -- but that having something, even it if it's just one thing -- that we truly love always is.    

Summer Stuns Before the Fall

Last night, long after John Mulaney's latest social commentary musical on SNL, I finished reading Jennifer Weiner's latest novel, That Summer.  If the title sounds familiar, then that's because Weiner's book before that was called Big Summer.  Although That Summer isn't its sequel, it does harbor an Easter egg.  

The book jacket doesn't say what it's really about, so maybe I shouldn't say either.  I will say that there are two strangers named Diana (although one goes by Daisy) who find out they share a disturbing bond.  What they decide to do about it will resonate with women everywhere.  

Here are two of my favorite quotes:

On Daisy.  Or rather, on what she thinks her daughter thinks of her:

"Worse, she suspected that Beatrice thought that cooking, cleaning, homemaking, all of what used to be called the domestic arts, were women's work.  A yoke that Daisy wore, of her own choosing, boundaries past which she did not stray; all of it part of a world that Beatrice and her generation had evolved beyond." (80)

On Diana.  Or rather, on what she thinks her coworkers think of her:

"She was sure her colleagues were engaging in some collective Baby Boom fantasy, where she was a bitchy, big-city ice queen who needed some salt-of-the-earth loving, maybe even a baby or three, to make her a woman again." (138)

Both women deal with female stereotypes that eat away at who they really are.  Just as both are victims of circumstances created by men.  Or, rather, by one man.  

To echo Michael Stipe, "Oh no, I've said too much.  I haven't said enough."

The end.