James Schuyler (1923–1991)

As someone who's not easily amused...I was in helpless laughter reading this; it's up there with Confederacy of Dunces as funniest book ever.
Set in middle class US suburbia, it concerns a group of neighbors meeting up for dinner - a childless couple; a flirtatious widow; and the superb Delahanty family: overbearing authoritarian Dad, overweight Mom, unfailingly sweet natured, boring Grandma...and two hefty "stalwart" teen boys - quashed unmercifully at home, but getting (covertly) into pot-smoking.. As the childless wife falls prey to alcohol and finds herself in a mental health unit, we meet another gaggle of splendid characters. But what's happening back home while she's locked up?
It's quite wonderful- I loved his "Alfred and Guinevere" too.

"Miss Pride, who was young and easily cowed, went off to help an advanced senility case with the finger paints." (I'm laughing so much it's hard to type!)
Though my stand-out character MUST be granny Biddy:
Responding to her D-I-L's throwaway comment, "I'll bet a nickle she's already dusting" with a sententious"I won't take you up on your bet because I never gamble."
A relentless crocheter, we have such gems as ""Roses, the queen of flowers". She shook out the crocheted maroon throw, so all could see it. "Isnt this just the color of an American Beauty?" It wasnt, but if anyone knew it, no one said it."
And ""She was adding a scalloped border to the throw she had crocheted. Biddy's Christmas offerings were as predictable as her tireless hook, and some friends felt decidedly over-stocked."
Just sublime!… (més)

Liking novels by poets is almost as esoteric an interest as that of the sacred pre-colonial landscape of New England! Be that as it may, and while I admit I am not deeply read in this "genre" there is a focus and purpose in these novels that I find different and delightful. I've read enough, [[Phillip Larkin]]'s [Jill], [[Randall Jarrell]]'s [Pictures from an Institution], and the sublime [Nest of Ninnies] - a joint effort of Schuyler and [[John Ashbery]] to name the ones that come to mind. Here, in a book written only in dialogue (shades of [[Henry Green]] and Guinevere's diary entries, the focus is on capturing daily language, what people really say. There are two children, Guinevere is between twelve and fourteen, her brother is no more than eight. There is uneasiness at home, mother is upset, father has gone off on a "work trip" to Europe without her. Right after Alfred recovers from appendicitis the two are packed off to Granny and Uncle Saul's. (I should add this is likely set in the 1950's). They fight, they make up, they alternate betraying and being dependent on one another. Poets are excellent at showing without blahing on -- a reason why budding writers should read spare novels written by poets. With few words, one is there, totally in the scene, surrounded by the smell of a failed lunch, the sting of an insult, the way children distance themselves from anxiety with imaginary play and acting out. Children know everything, adults really shouldn't kid themselves! Lovely! ****… (més)