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The tragedy of unfounded hopes, Nov. 8 2008
Although The Man of My Dreams is a really banal title, the concerns of the novel it represents are at times profound. But then its author, Curtis Sittenfeld, is such a contrarian writer that quite possibly she wanted the title to cut both ways: on the one hand to be seen as ironic, but on the other to be seen as so wildly hopeful that both her fans and her new readers would immediately know that if ironies follow sorrow, then hopes (and above all unfounded hopes) precede it.
Sittenfeld's novel is certainly all about unfounded hopes, and for her protagonist, Hannah Gavener, the man of her dreams is Henry, a former boyfriend of Hannah's beautiful cousin Fig. Sittenfeld astutely captures Hannah's long adoration of Henry as well as Henry's alternating layers of uncanny emotional awareness and casual dishonesty. But Henry could also be what Hannah has always most truly desired: "a man who will deny her; a man of her own who isn't hers."
The man of Fig's dreams is a man we never meet, we only see her planning to fly out to California to spend time with him, and in a much later chapter we see her reveal two things that startle Hannah: (1) that she no longer remembers this man; not his name, not his profession, not anything about him, and (2) after years of being the object of stunned worship from multitudes of men, Fig has fallen in love with a woman.
But this novel suffers a kind of death when it's reduced to a story line; the real news about Sittenfeld is that she is such an honest and usefully detached writer that it can be an extreme pleasure reading her dissections of sex, first sex, humiliation, resentment, wistful envy, rueful ire, and the formal surprises that come with forgiveness.
She also writes more perceptively about adolescent sexual shyness than any other novelist I've ever read, accurately conveying all the ways it makes a certain kind of anxious and inhibited young woman (in this case Hannah) grab apprehensive control of sexual situations, even though she's so inexperienced that she imagines she's being considerate rather than withholding when she's in bed with her mystified boyfriends.
In this sense, Hannah resembles Lee Fiora in Sittenfeld's first novel, Prep. They are also both fourteen years old at the beginnings of their respective novels, but while Lee's story covers four years at an elite New England prep school, Hannah quickly grows older, goes to university, goes to work, moves from city to city.
The Man of My Dreams also aims to have a wider and deeper social resonance than Prep in the sense that it is bookended by two narratives concerning tragically afflicted male children. In the first chapter we meet Rory, an eight-year-old cousin of Hannah's who has Down's Syndrome. In the final chapter, set in New Mexico, Hannah is teaching at a school for autistic boys, news that we learn from a letter she writes to her former psychiatrist. This letter ends the novel and feels too rushed and convenient a way to respond to too many unanswered questions.
But in spite of the shortcomings of this final letter as well as an opening paragraph that comes across as boring chick lit (it begins the novel with the words "Julia Roberts is getting married..." then a few lines later tells us that the bridesmaids' shoes are "Manolo Blahnik, $475 a pair")--The Man of My Dreams soon begins to move much more swiftly than Prep did. It also feels looser, bolder, less claustrophobic and so, inevitably, more free. There are also more scenes set in the open air, and these scenes are the most alive and memorable sequences in the book.
Hannah's trip to Alaska with her sister Allison, Allison's boyfriend, and the boyfriend's "alarmingly handsome" and unbearable older brother is the best chapter of all, giving Sittenfeld the chance to brilliantly catch what's most socially awkward, unbearably damp, openly hostile, and truly catastrophic about camping in the wild.
There's also a great scene where Hannah gazes at a glacier from a boat sailing on Prince William Sound and realizes that she has always imagined a glacier as "clear and glittery and neatly edged, like an oversize ice cube from a tray, but this is more like a field of ruffled, dirty snow. It has a blue tint, as if squirted with Windex."
Whether Sittenfeld means for the glacier to be a defiled image of our ruined world or a metaphor for the difference between what's romanticized and what's real, it works spookily well in this novel. As does the scene, a few days later, when Hannah loses her glasses in the middle of a drenching Alaskan downpour. Her glasses are never found, but for a long time after her return home she sometimes pictures them on the floor of the North Pacific. "It is dark and calm down there; fish slip past; her glasses rest untouched, the clear plastic lenses and titanium frames. In the stillness without her, the glasses see and see."
Those lost glasses could very well also symbolize Hannah herself, ardent about love although too often asexual about sex, a woman whose detachment (so like the inspired detachment of her creator) also allows her to see and see.
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