The Girl in the Polka-Dot Dress

"When I write a novel, I'm writing about my own life; I'm writing a biography almost always. And to make it look like a novel, I either have a murder or a death at the end."  ~ Beryl Bainbridge

I had never heard of the British novelist, Beryl Bainbridge until she died on July 2, 2010. It was by perusing her obituaries, and learning her take on writing and craft, that I became interested in seeking out more of her work. She didn't have an easy life or road to publication, but that didn't stop her from trying to make sense of the world by writing stories. She was a career novelist, and at the time of her death, she left behind twenty books. Her historical fiction was critically acclaimed and launched by her interest in real life figures (Adolf Hitler in her novel, Young Adolf) or topics (the Titantic in Every Man for Himself). She could construct an entire fictional universe around small kernels of truth.

The Girl in the Polka-Dot Dress was the novel Bainbridge had been working on at the time of her death. It was "re-mastered" and published posthumously. The story is classic Bainbridge - a compressed read (under 200 pages) where every word and scene is carefully chosen and infused with great wit and absurdity, however dark the themes.

The Girl in the Polka-Dot Dress grew out of Bainbridge's interest in the mystery girl who was reportedly involved in the assassination of Robert Kennedy. The story is also said to be based on Bainbridge's own experiences while traveling through the United States in the 1960s. 

Bainbridge sets this novel in 1968. It traces the cross-country adventure of two misfits: Rose, a young dental hygienist, who arrives in the U.S. from London; and Harold, an older man, a widower from the States, stuck in a psychological state of inertia. What brings the two, very different characters together is their mutual search to find Dr. Wheeler, a man working on the campaign trail for Robert Kennedy.

The doctor holds a sense of personal significance to both Rose and Harold. For Rose, Dr. Wheeler was a force for good amid her troubled childhood (although as the story unravels, "good" becomes a rather questionable adjective). For Harold, Dr. Wheeler represents a force of evil that led to the greatest calamity of his life. Over the course of the story, Dr. Wheeler is a presence that continues to elude the duo as they travel from Baltimore to Los Angeles. Thus, the doctor's absence drives the plot. However, the true resonance of the story lies in the numerous encounters Rose and Harold have along the way. The eccentricities of each person they meet reveal something more about Rose and Harold, while also making larger statements about the menacing nature of the world, especially in the 60s.

What I found most intriguing about The Girl in the Polka-Dot Dress was how the reader knows exactly where the story is headed and yet, via Bainbridge's presentation--the nuances of her characters and themes of sin, sudden death and violence--she adds surprising twists and levity to what becomes an immensely gripping story. In the end, the book becomes less about the destination and more about the journey, which is especially apropos in terms of the "unfinished" nature of the book and Bainbridge's immortality on the page.

The Girl in the Polka-Dot Dress by Beryl Bainbridge

Europa Editions, Trade Paper, 978-1609450564, 162 pp.

Publication Date: August 30, 2011

To order this book via INDIEBOUND link HERE

What Makes A Reader Care?

A creative writing instructor of mine once stressed how important it was to read books to the very end—even if we didn't like them. He believed writers could learn from work that didn't really appeal to them and/or hold their interests—possibly as much or more than work that did. As a disciplined person—at least in my reading and writing habits (red wine and extra-cheese pizza do not apply)—I’ve tried to hold fast to that rule. When I close a book, I sit with things in order to pin-point what worked and what didn't in order to apply what I’ve learned to my own writing. We bring so much of our own lives to what we read, as well as to our interpretations and the judgments we make about what we read. I've come to the conclusion that it always helps a reader's journey if they care about a character, but what makes a reader care . . . A sense of familiarity? Empathy? Anger? Frustration? A redeeming quality? Hoping the character will transform in a way that will be fulfilling to us by the end of the book? All of which leads me to the larger question of do you really have to "like" a character and agree with his/her choices in order to enjoy and fully appreciate a book?

I recently finished The Film Club by David Gilmour, a Canadian novelist and film critic. This thought-provoking memoir is about a father who allows his troubled, 15 year-old son to drop out of school with the stipulation that he'll watch three movies a week with Dad, and together, they will discuss them, in depth. I really looked forward to this read, as I was raised on a steady diet of movies since I was kid. The premise of Gilmour’s ultimatum to his son was the hook that enticed me. And while the plot appeared to be about a father and son who spend time together watching great movies, the story evolved into one more about a father trying to understand a son (and vice-versa) and parenthood—the challenges, joys, and the tendency to make mistakes.

I am a reader of mostly female-themed domestic fiction and it makes me wonder what kept me engaged through all 240 pages of this memoir. I am not a father or a son, and my own father (or mother, for that matter) would never have proposed such an educational ultimatum to me nor would they have been so liberal about alcohol and drug use and teenage sexual exploits. There were times during the read when I fiercely disagreed with Gilmour’s parenting style and the choices he made. But he did offer me an honest glimpse of an unfamiliar world. In straightforward, deft prose—and through candid, often heart-wrenching, storytelling—Gilmour revealed his foibles, as well as those of his son, as they both grappled with “the experiment” and tried to find their respective places in the world. Flawed characters trying to learn and grow—and do the right thing . . . in that, there is great universality.

The Film Club (a memoir) by David Gilmour
(Twelve, Hardcover, 9780446199292, 256pp.)
Publication Date: May 2008
To purchase this book via INDIEBOUND click HERE

A Day at the Beach

The sun is blinding. You stare out at the waves and feel the sand between your toes, hear the surf crashing at your bare feet . . . Packed alongside your suntan lotion and sunglasses, you've stuffed in a couple of books . . . Best Friends Forever the latest novel by Jennifer Weiner? The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger? Or maybe you are more "literary" and you've toted along a collection of well-crafted short stories like Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri? Or do you lean more toward a page-turning classic like Rebecca?

What if the tenets of summer were turned inside-out and instead of simply settling down with a book at the beach, you were able to bring one of your favorite literary characters to life and take him/her with you to experience the sand and surf. Who would you choose--man, woman, child, dog, extraterrestrial--and why? Maurice Bendrix? Chauncey Gardiner?Arthur Clennam? Rhett Butler? Holden Caufield? Frank Bascombe? Fitzwilliam Darcy? Henry Beck? Newland Archer? Maybe even Lorelei from The Dogs of Babel? Susie Salmon? Annie Wilkes or Paul Sheldon? Bridget Jones? If you can't narrow down your list, maybe you ought to throw an imaginary beach party and invite a whole bunch!

The Washington Post polled a handful of well-established authors on this very question . . . Some interesting thoughts.

Photo - "Palm Beach Surf" by Kathleen Gerard