Even as the cliche signs of fall such as brisk breezes and tinting leaves begin to arrive, readers can still extract some final drops of summer by indulging in J. Courtney Sullivan's novel "Maine." Although the cover of Sullivan's latest novel, which displays a tan, blond girl perched on the sand in a bathing suit, seems to cast the book as a mindless beach read, I found that Sullivan's prose posses an unexpected depth. "Maine" is in fact an honest and thought-provoking portrayal of three generations of women and how their relationships function as they converge at their summer home in Maine.
The most successful element of "Maine" is Sullivan's ability to create a gripping page-turner without a scintillating plot. In fact, "Maine" is largely devoid of action. Sullivan chronicles the events of a few summer weeks during which no earth-shattering events occur. The main events in the story when Maggie, 32 years old and recently dumped by her loser boyfriend, finds out she is pregnant and when Alice donates the family home to her church occur within the first few chapters of the novel.
"Maine" is told from the points of view of four women in the Kelleher family: Alice, the matriarch; her daughter Kathleen; her daughter-in-law Ann Marie and her granddaughter Maggie. This narrative technique offers readers different perspectives on the events in the novel, which are often differing accounts of the same event. In a particularly humorous pair of chapters, both Ann Marie, the perfect Catholic housewife, and Kathleen, her free-spirited, religiously lapsed sister-in-law, describe the incident in which Ann Marie impulsively (and drunkenly) kisses her friend's husband. In Ann Marie's chapter, she bashfully utters her shame and embarrassment, while in Kathleen's chapter, Kathleen unapologetically reveals the immense pleasure she derived while watching Ann Marie make a fool of herself.
The richness of Sullivan's novel lies in the strength of her character descriptions. In books about large, multi-generational families, characters often become one-sided and stale. In "Maine," however, the women are consistently multi-dimensional. Alice, the head of the family, is often judgmental of her children and grandchildren whom she sees as disrespectful and annoying, but also appears as sensitive and loving, plagued by grief for her sister who died in the Cocoanut Grove fire. Kathleen, a homemaker-turned-hippie, scorns her rigid upbringing and is often rude to Alice and Ann Marie, but would also do anything for her daughter Maggie, including giving up her savings to help support the baby. Ann Marie, a cookie-cutter wife and obedient daughter-in-law, sublimates her remorse about her lack of life accomplishments into entering dollhouse-making competitions and fantasizing romantically about her neighbor. Maggie, a smart, confident and polite writer living in New York City, experiences intense pain and romantic neediness after being left by her boyfriend and has conflicted feelings about her pregnancy.
As the great-granddaughter of Irish immigrants who settled in Massachusetts, I immensely enjoyed Sullivan's depiction of the Boston Irish Catholic world. Her witty portrayals of Irish tempers, Sundays spent at Mass and CCD classes, and undying Boston College pride painted a vivid picture of the community, heritage and religion these women experienced.
Sullivan's novel, though evidently targeted towards a female audience, is also replete with descriptions of Boston history that even my grandfather, a Red Sox fanatic and World War II veteran, would have enjoyed. Mentions of infamous Boston mobster Whitey Bulger and depictions of Alice's memories of the tragic 1942 Cocoanut Grove nightclub fire display Sullivan's historical prowess and enhance the context of the book.
The end of "Maine," which is void of grand gestures or heartfelt reconciliations, is a fitting conclusion to a novel that centers on the inevitability of interpersonal differences and irreconcilable conflicts. Sullivan presents a powerful chronicle of how the Kelleher women cope with each other's disparities and deep-seated, generations-old family problems while touchingly but not sappily interweaving poignant themes of family, growth and love.
