The Novel Cure: From Abandonment to Zestlessness: 751 Books to Cure What Ails You (28 page)

Certainly a mutual acceptance of the new reality will make life as a divorced couple easier—especially if you have children, since you will need to continue a relationship as parents for many years. Two years on from his divorce, Frank Bascombe—the sportswriter of Richard Ford’s
The Sportswriter
—is beginning to realize that if he were to live his life again, he might not choose to get divorced. He and X, as he calls his ex, still live near each other in the suburb of Haddam, New Jersey, so that their two kids, Paul and Clarissa, can move between homes. They talk at least twice a week on the phone and often bump into each other. It was X who initiated the divorce, but Frank is reconciled to it—living alone has helped him to know himself better. X, too, is moving on, for she is finally pursuing the promising golf career she gave up when she married. But complicating the couple’s divorce is that it is overshadowed by grief over the loss of a third child. While Frank denies the tragedy was the cause of the breakup, a sense of exhaustion and failure hangs heavily over the novel. As Frank discovers—along with some help from the other men at the Divorced Men’s Club in Haddam—life as a divorcé isn’t all about sex and liberation.

If, however, you have already admitted defeat and are looking to the freedom that divorce can provide, pick up
Their Eyes Were Watching God
, Zora Neale Hurston’s tale of love in the Deep South. For Janie, certainly, turning her back on a rushed marriage to dull farmer Logan Killicks turns out to be a good thing. Her grandmother, an ex-slave, is determined that Janie will marry well and not be left for men to go “usin’ yo’ body to wipe his foots on.” There’s little joy to be had with Logan, though, whom she can’t bring herself to love. And when Jody Starks, an energetic and entrepreneurial man with a plan, comes through, his hat set at an angle, Janie doesn’t think twice. They elope and settle in an emerging all-black town in Florida and live a comfortable, respectable life for many years. It’s not quite a match made in heaven, though, and eventually the ever feisty Janie feels stifled.

As luck would have it, she gets a third bite of the apple, and this time it’s the real thing. If you think your romantic life is over, take note of Janie—at forty, still swaggering down the street with her true love, Tea Cake. This is a life-affirming novel, poetic, profound, and wise. Stay openhearted. Give your marriage every chance it’s got, but if you must let go, be generous. Move on with a lighter step. The world is made new every day; you never know who may yet come your way.

See also:
Anger
•
Breaking up
•
Broken heart
•
Falling out of love with love
•
Murderous thoughts
•
Sadness
•
Single parent, being a
•
Turmoil

Caribou Island

DAVID VANN

Y
ou are balancing on a stool with a screwdriver between your teeth, a custom lightbulb in one hand, a fistful of ill-matched screws in the other, and a hammer under your arm. It is imperative that you mend this light fixture today, as tonight you’re having a much anticipated dinner party. As you accidentally touch two wires together with your screwdriver, you are thrown across the room by a compelling force. And no, it’s not your partner’s rage.

Getting injured in the home is extremely common, and invariably the cause is do-it-yourself projects. Fingers are severed, roofs cave in, shelves come tumbling down with hapless victims sprawled beneath them. If you are feeling an irresistible urge to build that lean-to, customize your Ikea unit, or sand down your patio, make sure a copy of
Caribou Island
is sitting just inside your tool kit. After you read this, the utter folly of attempting home improvement projects on your own will become indisputable. Here we are not only saving you hours of pain, but also your marriage, your other intimate relationships, and quite possibly even your life.

In this magnificently grim novel, Irene observes her husband, Gary, make one last, superhuman effort to either save or destroy their marriage by building a log cabin on the other side of Skilak Lake. They already live in the wilderness of Alaska, but Gary has always dreamed of a haven for their retirement that is more remote still. Even before it gets under way, the project is doomed: “They were going to build their cabin from scratch. No foundation, even. And no plans, no experience, no permits, no advice welcome.”

We watch Gary as the rain drives into his eyeballs like “pinpricks” and, inevitably, he puts the door on the wrong way. He leaves vital implements at home, across the soon to be frozen lake. Irene halfheartedly attempts to help, realizing more and more profoundly that her husband’s dream of his log cabin has never actually involved her. While Gary rages against the rain (in Anglo-Saxon, no less), Irene, feeling abandoned by all humanity, huddles in a tent, longing for home.

And then, a part of her she never knew existed is awakened: her inner Diana, huntress to whom mere dwellings are irrelevant. As this civilized woman is taken over, Irene becomes magnificent, irresistible, a force more
impressive than the elements. The superb conclusion of this novel will have you rushing straight to the yellow pages for a handyman.

See also:
Divorce
•
Pain, being in

My Ántonia

WILLA CATHER

W
hether it is a physical dizziness from which you suffer—seeing stars before folding, puppet-jointed, to the floor—or an emotional giddiness in which you lurch from pillar to post, you’ll need to stop the world from spinning by holding on to something solid and firm. Perhaps you’re pregnant (see: Pregnancy) or in pain (see: Pain, being in), jet-lagged or sleep deprived (see: Exhaustion), or coming down with something (see: Cold, common; Man flu). If none of these are the culprit, we suggest a no-nonsense dose of
My Ántonia
.

When ten-year-old Jimmy Burden loses both his parents in the space of a year, he is sent to live with his grandparents in Nebraska. On his way there, riding the train, he remarks, “The only thing very noticeable about Nebraska was that it was still, all day long, Nebraska.” Once at the end of the line, he and an immigrant bohemian family, who will become his closest neighbors, are driven by wagon through the night. At one point Jimmy peeps out from under the buffalo hide and sees nothing—“no fences, no creeks or trees, no hills or fields . . . nothing but land.” He has the feeling that he has left the world behind, and as the wagon jolts on, he allows himself to submit to its rhythm, to offer himself up to destiny. While in Nebraska, he meets Ántonia, the daughter of the immigrant family. He teaches her to speak English and in return learns about the importance of grit and hard work in order to survive. Their friendship turns out to be one of the most instructive in his life.

Read
My Ántonia
and inhale its waft of smelling salts. Emulate Jimmy’s submission to fate and his connection to the grounded Ántonia. If your body is loose, and you submit to what will be, you won’t hurt yourself when you fall.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

RAY BRADBURY

Y
ou slide the CD into the car stereo, with, well, considerable dread. With a title like that, how could you not? Besides, rods of October rain are coming down hard against the windshield, heavier by the minute, and you have a long journey ahead.

Five hours later, you are still pummeling down the highway through rain, wipers flashing back and forth across your vision. But inside your head you are crouched behind a bookshelf in the library of Green Town, Illinois. Beside you are Will and Jim—both just turned thirteen—and the “Illustrated Man” is drawing inexorably closer. He knows exactly who he is looking for, for the boys’ faces are tattooed on the palms of his hands. He wants them for his sinister circus. As this predator from the Pandemonium Show makes his way along the bookshelves, muttering to himself—“B for Boys? A for Adventure? H for Hidden. S for Secret. T for Terrified?”—your windshield suddenly fogs up. No matter how much you wipe the windows from the inside, it doesn’t seem to make any difference. Your breathing comes hard and fast. It is as if your eyes are being sewn shut by the witch who travels with the circus, cruising in a black balloon, muttering spells at anyone who thwarts the circus’s progress: “Darning-needle dragonfly, sew up those eyes so they cannot see!” You pull over and turn the audiobook off, pale and shaking.