With its clever structure and highly personal content, The Secret Papers of Madame Olivetti
captures the struggle of one woman to forgive herself for imagined
transgressions in her past. Protagonist Lily recalls a continuing series of
sensual encounters, some of which cause her guilt, and from which we are never
very far. In fact, I recognize these as the best descriptions of a woman’s
sensuality I have ever encountered. Author Annie Vanderbilt guides our tour
very effectively, and I will always honor her for that. After a promising
start, however, Madame Olivetti unfortunately
bogs down from the weight of guilt, delusion, and the life lessons that come
too late for the most deserving characters.
Ms. Vanderbilt constructs a clever framework in which she allows Lily to tell her story, and interposes a current-events narrative in which her widowed heroine does the writing (while finding yet another partner for rewarding sex). The author slowly reveals Lily’s fraught emotional state to us, but then we find out it’s all a mistake, based on a series of graphically-told emotional losses and doubts. This book’s main reward lies in the effectiveness and clarity of Lily’s internal dialogue. It is constructed on a mistaken and damaging guilt in the main character that I had a hard time crediting, although the author gives it a very game try.
Through a series of highly effective erotic scenes, which
are not explicit but just very well done, we understand a central feature of
Lily’s nature. She bestows her men with love and shares her sensuality
generously with them – and most of these episodes occur with her husband Paul
as they try to build a family. Lily occupies Paul’s ancestral home in the south
of France for a month each summer, and the summer after he dies suddenly of a
heart attack, she sets herself the task of putting her guilt-ridden thoughts
down on paper, using an aged manual Olivetti typewriter. Her local friends help
her see that her guilt stems from a delusion: she thinks she conceived her
daughter while having an affair in Mexico (some of the best, dreamiest sensual
writing in the book), but an old photograph and a matriarch’s memory help her
see the error of her ways.
Ms. Vanderbilt constructs a clever framework in which she allows Lily to tell her story, and interposes a current-events narrative in which her widowed heroine does the writing (while finding yet another partner for rewarding sex). The author slowly reveals Lily’s fraught emotional state to us, but then we find out it’s all a mistake, based on a series of graphically-told emotional losses and doubts. This book’s main reward lies in the effectiveness and clarity of Lily’s internal dialogue. It is constructed on a mistaken and damaging guilt in the main character that I had a hard time crediting, although the author gives it a very game try.
No comments
Post a Comment