I was so pleased to begin this novel and find the protagonist is a 60 year old – Serenata, living with her 64 year old husband, Remington. Pleased because increasingly, it intrigues me to have a perspective of life from those in more advanced stages/decades of their lives; how intelligent, previously ordinary and mainstream people who are gradually becoming marginalised from the mainstream by their age and aging bodies, then change their perceptions of their lives and the world around them, and their priorities and prospects. I am intrigued by (the texture and tone of ) their take, in life’s later decades.
The story begins with Remington proposing to run a marathon, having never run or done exercises in his life; whereas Serenata who has been running steadily for 47 years – but who has never run a marathon, and does not consider herself a runner – is now plagued with problematic knees, and can no longer go running as she used to, and as a result, her nose is put slightly out of joint by her beloved husband’s proposed marathon run, which she cannot help viewing as vainglorious. She tries not to be too critical, understanding his being unfairly made redundant so close to retirement has hurt his pride and left him at a loss, but views with askance the trappings of her husband’s new obsession, and considers his extravagant equipment as “the very American impulse to lavish money on what could not be bought” (p59). She does perform wifely duty by going through the motions of being supportive, which her husband is aware are mere gestures, and that she does not necessarily concur. In a discussion about his running, he makes the assertion which titles this novel:
“ “Life comes down to nothing more than the motion of the body through space.”
The assertion seemed a mantra of sorts. “So if I remain perfectly still, I’m dead.”
“Life comes down to nothing more than the motion of the body through space.”“It’s impossible to remain perfectly still, which should tell you something about the nature of being alive” “
p113
All that said about Serenata’s dubious reception of Remington’s new-found obsession with running, they are a loving couple, very compatible for most part, mutually appreciative, and very understanding of each other’s foibles; they have the security of their relationship to even be able to gently call each other out without rancour. “Behind closed doors, one of the joys of their marriage was mutual permission to be horrid” (p43). In Remington, she found an excellent partner, a sparring partner, as well as a true life partner, and their marriage appears to have been strong and supportive, and full of cut and thrust, sometimes coming close to the bone, but consistently loving.
The background plot about running, intensive exercise, societal expectations of health and achievements, provides a marvellous canvas for Shriver to make her pointed, acerbic societal comments (particularly about social media, changing political correctness, white privilege, ‘mimicry’ issues gone mad). Shriver cleverly targets compulsive fitness as the ‘church of exercise’, drawing hilarious and accurate parallels between the cult of excessive work outs with religious fanaticism.
“More than ever, social status was determined by fat-to-muscle ratio, definition, and belt-notching feats of stamina, so that endurance events of every description did nothing but multiply”
p336
This novel is classic Shriver, sharp, edgy, unforgiving, fiercely intelligent, beautifully observed. Serenata is a woman after my own heart – a loner, anti-conformist, invested but disengaged; Shriver being Shriver however, will not allow her protagonist even that cold comfort of that lonesome pedestal: Remington tells her that their daughter
“gladly takes your description of yourself as a cold, solipsistic misanthrope at face value. So you should stop playing to that silly self-caricature”
p63
Shriver has a wicked pen sometimes – her portrayal of Valerie, Serenata’s 31 year old daughter, is remorseless – Valerie, a fearful child, overweight, and poor in her studies, given to sudden fancies which come to nothing, had seemingly no personality even as a child and teenager, no purpose, no passion, nothing worth recommending. Feeling neglected by her parents, she turns to a religious group; evangelists offered ‘a shaky young woman’ guiding principles and practical rules, and
Best of all for someone who’d underperformed as a student, had never found a career calling, and had always felt more than a little hard done by, the Jesus brigade bestowed on the convert an arch superiority to all other benighted heathens who hadn’t seen the light – like her parents.
p67
You didn’t have to be smart, lively, likeable, attractive, or funny: you merely had to “accept Jesus as your Savior.” Presumably this cheap fealty was a modest price of admission for a girl who’d felt so estranged in her school days
p66
Valerie is incommunicado from her parents from 25 to 29 years of age, and returns having found religion and wanting to forgive her parents, and with 5 children, and a new husband. When visiting her parents, she pushes her children around continuously:
The ceaseless instructions established her total dominion over a fiefdom of three, the stay-at-home parent’s standard compensation for commanding so little elsewhere.
p73
Valerie is resentful with her parents, particularly her mother, pretentious, petulant, and Serenata walks on eggshells around her daughter, so as not to trigger more (unjustified) outbursts and recriminations than necessary.
There is irony of course in Serenata’s knees having given way just as Remington decides to embark on life-altering athleticism activities. She has to fight herself to be supportive – or at least, not overly critical – and yet balance that with integrity. The couple’s different age-related problems do not necessarily enable them to walk (pun intended) this part of life’s journey closely together; Shriver shows how aging may be supported by networks, but is ultimately a very lonely process, even when going through it in parallel with loved ones.
The end of the novel does not disappoint. The plot comes to its climax, then in a last chapter called Afterword, Shriver deftly tucks in the loose ends. She uses her authorial prerogative to give the reader a sense of grim satisfaction with the knowledge that the more villainous characters get some comeuppances, and ones with poetic justice. She describes briefly the relationship of Serenata and Remington and how they play out the years of their lives. She also provides most satisfyingly Serenata’s internal monologue on the joys of the freedom of aging:
Serenata was not obliged to give a flying fig about climate change, species extinction, or nuclear proliferation. She had her eye on the door, and had every hope of escaping a great human reckoning almost certainly in the offing. […] She no longer fought a misanthropy that was increasingly blithe, even whimsical, and which as she approached her own oblivion was shedding its hypocrisy. The very best thing about getting old was basking in this great big not-giving-a-shit. Younger folks like Tommy would decry her happy boredom with all the looming threats that exercised them as criminally irresponsible and unforgivably callous. But Serenata had earned her ennui. Marvelously [sic], nothing she did exerted any appreciable influence on the rest of the world. Nothing she’d ever recorded professionally had changed anything or anyone a jot. Her inconsequence made the planet safer for everyone. She didn’t like other people much, nor them her. She didn’t plan on worrying about the fate of her fellows as she met her own. Aging was proving one long holiday. She was harmless – although she’d be the first to agree that she and her heedless ilk should probably be denied the vote. The future didn’t need her, and she didn’t need it. Others behind her would discover it soon enough: the bliss of sublime indifference.
Their lives were almost over, and the finality had a sweet side. A burden had been lifted. The decisions still to be made were few. If the main story weas over, all that remained was wrap up – the luxurious and largely gratuitous tying up of loose ends.
p334
The novel ends on an upbeat note, which is charming given how unrelentingly realistically grim Shriver’s portrayal of normal aging had been. Serenata reflects on how machines (AI) increasingly improve and takes over not just menial and repetitive jobs, but professional and creative ones too, admitting even writing good literature can be competently done by robots.
All the hard-body advertisements, Main Streets taken over by gyms. Well, it makes a certain dumb sense, doesn’t it? It’s as if we’re swapping places. Machines have become better people. What’s left to do? People become better machines.
p338
But the novel ends on a sweet note:
he peered into her face and said apropos of nothing, “You’re still a very, very handsome woman.”
“To you.” She said.
“What else matters?”
They kissed. Two runners rushed around them, looking annoyed; the elderly couple in the way would be ruining their time.
p338
For a different take on this novel, see Susan’s review
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