Having read Newman’s Sandwich, I somehow felt I had to also read its sequel, Wreck. I am not sure exactly why, given that Sandwich was okay but not brilliant by any means, and its protagonist, Rocky, a mixture of annoying and lovable, sincere but frivolous too. Rocky, a writer by profession, is back in this sequel with her loving husband Nick (a physical therapist), her elder son Jamie who is a junior analyst at Dickens, Willa, applying for a PhD in neuroscience. This book follows in the new trend of let’s-only-see-good-things novels Susan identified before, like Ann Patchett’s Tom Lake and Anna Quindlen’s More Than Enough, where everyone is loving, understanding, considerate, well behaved, good hearted, and there are no money worries, no real life worries actually, no edge, no real struggling to do.
Rocky’s (of course lovely) father is in their in-law apartment behind the house, but it is stressed he is not dependent on them, he is still holding onto his rent-controlled apartment in New York, and he is just ‘testing out’ this living arrangement for now. The in-law apartment which is quaintly called ‘the shack’ has
hardwood floors, pretty molding, and skylights. A waterfall showerhead, quartz countertops, and a view out to the mountain range from every window” (p8)
just to reassure readers that Rocky is not just sticking her 92 year old dad in some lousy backroom. Is this what is called humble bragging? Ricky contrasts the shack with her supposedly not-renovated house,
“The big house is all Formica and texture ceilings” – but lest you feel sorry for her living in squalor, she also tells us “out kitchen is sunny and glorious with a glass door out to the yard, a woodstove, and this couch where everybody congregates day and night” (p8).
Just to establish for the readers how nice (read comfortable, affluent, and even close and cosy) a family they are.
For most part, the novel is again told through Rocky’s consciousness, and here’s a sample of how her mind typically works in that trademark mixture of trivial and eager, which is supposed to be endearing, I guess:
The phlebotomist is calling to me from the door to the lab, and I scramble to put my phone away, embarrassed for no particular reason except this seems to be my natural state. I comment on her new butterfly tattoo, ask about nursing school, which she is loving, prove myself in every way worth of both love, and a good outcome. […] I watch the vials fill with blood and feel a sense of pride that is truly inexplicable. Maybe I’ll add, Body makes own blood! To the Other Skills section of my resume” (p48)
Rocky also prides herself on being straightforward and unshy: Talking to her dermatologist:
You’re a real Chatty Cathy all of a sudden,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure that’s a story for sharing with your patients, just FYI. I mean disfiguring your girlfriend and all.’” (p20).
The novel depicts a wholesome American family (from Western Massachusetts which also holidays in Cape Cod regularly) which seems obtusely unaware of just how American they are, and how they other the rest of the world unthinkingly, and almost naturally. Discussing the term ‘level crossing’ which Willa says she does not know. Nick says,
But maybe that’s a British term,’, he says. I say all these stupid things because Grandma said them.’ He’s talking about my British mother. ‘Herbs,’ he says, emphasizing the H. ‘I say sha-LOT like a dingbat, even though regular people say SHALLot. Gooseflesh instead of goose bumps. Maybe we just call those railroad crossings” (p13)
Clearly this is not intended to be offensive, but it is unintentionally insulting to British speakers, who speak this way all the time so presumably all say ‘these stupid things’ all the time, like ‘dingbats’ as well as level crossing. Or I could be misreading, and the would-be putting down of these British terms as ‘stupid things’ may be another humble brag about a British grand/parent in the family.
The story starts with a person from the Zapf family who went to school with Jamie, getting killed at the level crossing, his car hit by a train. It feels almost as if Newman has to manufacture this ‘incident’ to agitate Rocky, because of course, the agitation cannot come from within that perfect family. Rocky is very worked up about this, and vicariously wallows in grief by following the social media of the incident and of the family members. Later, much later, it transpires that perfect son Jamie works for the management consulting company that advised the railroad and the insurance company, that shock horror, has the temerity to put a dollar value on a lost life! And the whole family who while adoring Jamie, are very uncomfortable with the fact he is a junior analyst in such a company. It is unclear how a family that lives in La La Land manages to survive the real world whenever they deign to come down to it.
The story is also supposed to be given a suspense by Rocky finding rashes or bumps or growths on her skin, which she then is tested to the nth degree for, and has to go through the novel in fear of being diagnosed with something terrible and life threatening. While this kind of fear is very real and debilitating, and Rocky is brave enough with how she copes with the testing and waiting, the tension it is supposed to add never quite manages to manifest itself, in this happy clappy book. And indeed, in the end, apparently her liver is crushing this disease all by itself, yippee doo dah!
Look, I am all for comfort reading, and particularly when times are hard. But these kinds of too good to be true families, with perfect lives and no financial worries and near perfect relationships with each other, are not actually comforting at all. They just come across as slightly delusional, and insult the reader’s intelligence and credulity. These writers are capable writers in their own right; they can do a lot better than this, and perhaps they need to think long and hard about whether they have anything worth saying before they publish more in this let’s-only-see-good-things genre.
Wreck
Catherine Newman
Harper, 2025.
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