The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen: A review

In The Corrections, his National Book Award-winning novel from 2001, Jonathan Franzen gives us the Lamberts, an American Gothic family from the Midwest: Alfred, the emotionally constipated paterfamilias, who sacrificed himself for his family in many ways that we discover as the novel proceeds and who now faces a slow death from Parkinson's Disease; his wife, Enid, a woman who longs for a warmth from her husband and children that she has never received, a woman who lives on the expectation that things will get better; Gary, the oldest son, married and living in Philadelphia with his manipulative wife Caroline who is teaching their three young sons the art of the disdainful manipulation of their father; Chip, the middle child, who we first meet as a self-absorbed twit but who grows into something more fully human by the conclusion of the book; and Denise, the youngest child, a talented chef who betrays her employer in Philadelphia through her ambiguous sexuality and loses, if not everything, at least her sense of self and self-worth. They are truly a dysfunctional family writ large.

We first meet Enid and Alfred as they visit son Chip in New York. The only thing is, Chip skips out on them, chasing his lover, leaving sister Denise to deal with them as they get ready to embark on a cruise that Enid had been looking forward to. This first part of the book, the first 25 to 30 pages are a "hump" that the reader must get over. At this point, these characters are so unattractive and unendearing that one is strongly tempted to throw the book in the corner and forget about it. Don't do that though. The book rewards perseverance and reveals its gifts slowly.

The structure of the book is to focus on each member of the family in one section. Thus, we get to know each of them intimately. They do not necessarily improve upon closer acquaintance and yet we begin to understand why they are so messed up and why this family falls so short of the ideal. But then, don't all families?

As we come to better know each of them, our empathy is aroused and we wish that they would make better choices, that they had made better choices in their lives. Mostly, I wished that Enid would find the fulfillment so lacking in her life. She gave so much of herself to this family and seemed to get so little in return.

Enid is the eternal optimist, always looking to a future that she is sure, all evidence to the contrary, will be rosier. In particular, she looks for one last family Christmas at their home in St. Jude. She wants all three children, her daughter-in-law, and the three grandchildren to be there - one big happy family with her and Alfred. It's soon obvious to the reader that the mean-spirited daughter-in-law will not be there and that she's going to find a way to keep her children, if not her husband, in Philadelphia. Gary promises to come. Denise promises to come. But Chip? Well, Chip is in Lithuania working a dodgy scam and seems unlikely to show up. It appears that Enid's dreams will be unfulfilled once again.

Meanwhile, Alfred's mental and physical conditions are deteriorating rapidly. Changes will have to be made. How will this family summon the fortitude to make them?

I resisted reading this book for eleven years, mostly because I was irritated by Franzen's prickly personality. I eventually got over that enough to read a couple of his other books and discovered that he is, in fact, as all the critics swooned, quite a remarkable and talented writer. This book, which is essentially a tragedy, is also filled with such humor and insight and, yes, empathy for human frailties that it becomes an absorbing epic that one wishes would not end.

In Anna Karenina, Tolstoy wrote: "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." The Lambert way of unhappiness is to keep secrets, withhold affection, and demand that others fit into the molds that you have constructed for their lives. Actually, it sounds not that dissimilar from other unhappy families I have known. Each unhappy family may have its own twist on the unhappiness theme, but there are things that they all have in common. Things that they have in common with all of us. The Lamberts as Everyfamily.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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