When does love fade away?
At what point does it simply blend into a gentle fondness?
Forgive my open-ended questions; I spent way too much of the last week with Atlantic's fiction issue -- particularly this tale from Alexi Zentner, I guess, but also Paul Theroux's snapshots of passion -- and still more time contemplating the passage of hours, days and years.
(Note: I love spending time contemplating. And shopping. And drinking coffee.)
Which, I guess, brings me to Nick Hornby's How To Be Good, a story that has nothing at all to do with fading or blending or softening or rounding.
Certainly, Katie's and David's marriage has lost its.... Novelty? Charm? Kindness?
To be honest, it's a fascinating read on what happens when actors in a relationship change frantically mid-marriage. Is there room to grow? To escape? How can you re-bond with your husband once he becomes unrecognizable?
Clearly I don't have the answers to any of these questions. But, halfway through the story, I can assure you Hornby offers just the right mix of funny and bizarre. His characters are the right amount of cartoon and realistic. And, you may be wondering whether Hornby can write a realistic female narrator -- so far, I'd say yes.
4 comments:
But surely gentle fondness is better than passive indifference, and simply coexisting in the same area of space and time?
Isn't fondness kind of like coexisting?
Hey, I'm also reading How to be Good! We can ponder together when I'm done.
At least fondness is an emotion; as is hate. I guess by co-existing, I meant just a total ambivalence and indifference to the other person; a relationship characterized by "meh-ness". I think that would be even worse than actively despising someone you used to adore.
Post a Comment