The Latecomer by Jean Hanff Korelitz: A review

The latecomer in this family saga is Phoebe. She is the younger sister of triplets in the Salo and Johanna Oppenheimer family of New York. When the triplets are ready for college, their mother is feeling alone and she makes the decision to have their embryo sibling implanted in a surrogate and that is how "the latecomer" comes to be in the world.

The triplets are Harrison, Sally, and Lewyn, and they came about because Johanna was concerned that she had not become pregnant after three years of marriage and she consulted a fertility doctor. The treatment exceeded her expectations with the result that she ended up with not one but three babies.

The three had little in common beyond the fact that they had once shared a womb. In fact, they thoroughly disliked each other and would not even acknowledge their relationship to those who did not know about it. As soon as they are able to leave home, each goes his/her own way.

Johanna has hopes that having a new baby will somehow help to bring the family together, but, of course, it doesn't work out that way.

The first three hundred and fifty pages are narrated in turn by the triplets who come off as completely smug and self-centered. Each is consumed by his/her own feeling of self-importance and, reading their narratives, I often felt quite irritated by them. When their mother decides to have another baby, they can only view that decision in relation to themselves with no sense of the new baby as an individual and they view it as their mother's attempt to focus attention away from them and to get people to pay attention to her. There is no sense that this younger sibling will have anything to do with them or have any place in their lives.

So, we have yet another dysfunctional family story. Not only is it dysfunctional but its members are, for the most part, quite unlikeable. There are character studies of each of the family members through which the author explores themes of race and class, sexuality and belonging. In other words, she explores the roots of individual identity. It makes for compelling reading, and even though the book is quite long at nearly five hundred pages and some readers have complained about the length, it doesn't really feel long to me. The story moves along at a good pace and one is always ready to move on to the next page to find out what happens next.

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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