A Celebration of Unorthodox Relationships

~ City of Girls, by Elizabeth Gilbert ~

After reading Eat Pray Love, and then its sequel Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage, I was not very keen to read any more of Elizabeth Gilbert’s writing. So much so that when Signature of All Things was released in 2014, I could barely believe this was the work of the same author – in fact, I kept checking, somehow convinced there was another author by the same name (and in my defense, neither her first nor last names are uncommon). But no, it is the same author, and I promptly revised my private mental note to avoid her writing. Signature of All Things was masterful, delightful. So it was without hesitation I began on her 2019 release, City of Girls as soon as I could get my hands on it.

The writing does not disappoint – it sparkles along, the dialogue is particularly witty, and the accents authentic. It has a lot of larger-than-life characters absolutely crammed into its pages. The Lily Playhouse in Manhattan epitomises the Manhattan of the 1940s, and Gilbert’s rendition of this place, this era, is deeply evocative. Our protagonist is one tall, willowy brunette Vivian Morris, a most genteelly brought up young woman whose parents despair of her when she ranked 361 out of the Vassar class of 362 (the girl ranked 362 contracted polio). She is sent (away) to her Aunt Peg who owns Lily Playhouse, produces plays, and nurtures talents, waifs, and strays alike; and there Vivian’s life changes out of recognition.

Suddenly all restrains and decorums are lifted and she is free, as only a 19 year old can be, essentially sans chaperon, to indulge herself in everything which takes her fancy, which includes drinks and men, with abandonment and to excess. Along with the stunning showgirl Celia Ray, Vivian Morris has Fun. She meets British actress Edna Parker Watson, refugeeing unexpectedly to New York, who is the last word on style and talent, the toast of the acting world, the irresponsible, irrepressible Billy Buell, husband of Aunt Peg, and Olive Thompson, also spouse of Aunt Peg; if this arrangement seems a tad unorthodox, that would be because this entire novel is a celebration of love and relationships which are unorthodox, but sincere, deeply felt, and at the core of the characters’ strength. The novel also beautifully takes on discussions of class (breeding), background, immigrant cultures, New York neighbourhoods and allegiances, various ethnicities all thrown into this glorious melting pot.

Then Vivian Morris’ ‘Fun’ just tiptoes over the line, unintentionally, into something a bit less trivial, and Vivian leaves NY under a cloud, back to Clinton, to sink into a fugue of self-loathing and apathy. War comes along, everything changes, and Aunt Peg come to Clinton to bring our heroine back to NY, and this time, this 2nd chance, she makes a rousing success of her life there. From the start, Vivian is a gifted seamstress, and one of the joys of this novel is Gilbert’s luminous descriptions of fabrics, dresses, clothes and cloths that create eras and styles. These descriptions, as much as the political backdrop, places the narrative in its specific locale and time wonderfully evocatively.

The second half of the novel is so separate and different from the first half, that if I have a criticism to make, it is that the two halves don’t necessarily seem to need each other. It could almost be two stand-alone novels. The second half was equally enjoyable with more wonderful characters being introduced – like wild spirit Majorie Lowtsky, and the troubled, lovable Frank Grecco. The writing continues to sparkle, and our protagonist grows older, wiser, more assured. She leads her less than conventional lifestyle with greater discernment and panache – which is a delight to the reader – her ‘voice’ continuing to be painfully honest and charmingly period. Yes, there are connections between the 2 halves, and the way Frank entered Vivian’s life twice was a particularly good narrative device, but the two halves remain separate because the characters in the first half seem eclipsed in the second half with little carry through, and it feels as though Vivian Morris has had two lives, is telling two separate stories.

Just a example of the kind of voice of author and protagonist, when speaking of her mother, to whom she was never close, Vivan says,

“She was a keen horsewoman, and given that I was neither a horse nor fascinated by horses, we’d never had much to talk about.”
p5

There are many wonderful throw-away lines throughout the novel, wonderful lines to read and reread and laugh aloud at. The writing really is what carries this novel so triumphantly along. It is a real reader’s novel, a novel which sets out to flirt with and charm and delight the reader, and one could have ‘listened’ to Vivian Morris for many hundred pages more without tiring of her for a moment.