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Other people's airs
WITH a title like "Spoiled," I expected Caitlin Macy's first story collection to be about Park Avenue princesses caught in a glamorous panic of wealthy-people problems (status, sex scandals, where to summer) and using wealthy-people medication (gossip, Barneys, Grey Goose with a twist of Valium) to keep their despair as recessed as the lighting in their nurseries.
I expected, in other words, to meet older versions of the characters from "The Fundamentals of Play," Macy's fine 2000 novel about New York 20-somethings in a panic of ... see above.
I wouldn't have minded. Wealth, class, the surfeit and cattiness of the over-indulged -- a writer like Macy could create beguiling chokers with these gems. But from the first paragraph I knew I was in different territory. These nine stories are less concerned with the fabulous than with something altogether more demanding and substantial.
The grumbling characters aren't as spoiled as they'd like. The settings aren't Upper East Side penthouses facing the park. They're in the same buildings, perhaps, but as the begrudging narrator of one story notes, "in interior rooms that open onto shaftways." That character, a young mother, gives a comically in-depth analysis of her difficult friend, Christie. Vexed by Christie's naked social-climbing - and feeling herself above trivial matters like money and excess - the narrator dissolves their friendship, determined "to burn the fat from my life." By the end, however, she's perfectly willing to regain the weight when she learns Christie can do her a life-changing (and status-changing) favor.
Many of these stories are about women studying other women from an amused distance. Yet thanks to Macy's knack for detail and clarity, the stories never feel distant but are fraught and immediate.
One character's fixation on a girl and her nanny leads to an ill-conceived and ultimately selfish act of charity. Another character, Trish, steals a coat from her stylish, irreverent housekeeper, hoping to knock her confidence down a peg to a level more suitable for a servant.
A few stories (like the one about the coat) rely too heavily on symbolism - the events lining up too neatly, the toughened voice leading to an ending that feels manufactured and bereft. Yet while the action can seem contrived or mundane, the writing itself is always rousing. Trish's fantasy of a cleaning lady is of somebody "heavy and saturnine, with an air of the Old World." She imagines she'll "indulge the woman, with unexpected bonuses and thoughtful gestures: 'Do you want this Vogue? I was going to throw it out'?"
These characters aren't so much spoiled as offensively naive and sheltered. Yet there's a catch: their routines, language, obsessions and complications are often recognizable as our own. Macy seems to be broadening the definition of who's spoiled, warmly including most of her readers. Taken individually, her stories are exquisite character studies: urbane, assured and filthy rich in smart observations.
I expected, in other words, to meet older versions of the characters from "The Fundamentals of Play," Macy's fine 2000 novel about New York 20-somethings in a panic of ... see above.
I wouldn't have minded. Wealth, class, the surfeit and cattiness of the over-indulged -- a writer like Macy could create beguiling chokers with these gems. But from the first paragraph I knew I was in different territory. These nine stories are less concerned with the fabulous than with something altogether more demanding and substantial.
The grumbling characters aren't as spoiled as they'd like. The settings aren't Upper East Side penthouses facing the park. They're in the same buildings, perhaps, but as the begrudging narrator of one story notes, "in interior rooms that open onto shaftways." That character, a young mother, gives a comically in-depth analysis of her difficult friend, Christie. Vexed by Christie's naked social-climbing - and feeling herself above trivial matters like money and excess - the narrator dissolves their friendship, determined "to burn the fat from my life." By the end, however, she's perfectly willing to regain the weight when she learns Christie can do her a life-changing (and status-changing) favor.
Many of these stories are about women studying other women from an amused distance. Yet thanks to Macy's knack for detail and clarity, the stories never feel distant but are fraught and immediate.
One character's fixation on a girl and her nanny leads to an ill-conceived and ultimately selfish act of charity. Another character, Trish, steals a coat from her stylish, irreverent housekeeper, hoping to knock her confidence down a peg to a level more suitable for a servant.
A few stories (like the one about the coat) rely too heavily on symbolism - the events lining up too neatly, the toughened voice leading to an ending that feels manufactured and bereft. Yet while the action can seem contrived or mundane, the writing itself is always rousing. Trish's fantasy of a cleaning lady is of somebody "heavy and saturnine, with an air of the Old World." She imagines she'll "indulge the woman, with unexpected bonuses and thoughtful gestures: 'Do you want this Vogue? I was going to throw it out'?"
These characters aren't so much spoiled as offensively naive and sheltered. Yet there's a catch: their routines, language, obsessions and complications are often recognizable as our own. Macy seems to be broadening the definition of who's spoiled, warmly including most of her readers. Taken individually, her stories are exquisite character studies: urbane, assured and filthy rich in smart observations.
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