The Emperor's Children
Six down, four to go in my quest to read all ten of the New York Times ten best of 2006. The Emperor's Children, by Claire Messud, is a sumptuous comedy of manners, set in New York City in 2001. It is a rich evocation of the literati class and their offspring, and an outsider who spoils the party.
At the heart of this book are three friends, graduates of Brown, now at 30 years of age. Marina Thwaite is a former teen model and daughter of Murray Thwaite, an eminent journalist and intellectual. She is aimless, living with her parents on the Upper West Side, trying to finish a book on the semiotics of children's clothing that she's been working on for seven years. Julius Clarke is a gay, half-Vietnamese freelance critic who suffers from both ennui and a sybaritic lifestyle. He lives in a hovel in the Lower East Side, but while office temping seduces his boss, a brash financial analyst. Their friend Danielle is a TV producer. Perhaps because she has Midwestern roots (she hails from Columbus) she's more sensible, and seems to regard the drama of her friends as some sort of extra entertainment. As for Murray, who is the metaphorical "Emperor" of the title, he is a bigwig in the intelligensia, a firebrand liberal from the 1960s who now lives in comfort, surrounded by acolytes and a huge ego.
Two outsiders enter this cozy set-up: Ludovic Seely, an Australian writer, who comes to New York to start a magazine that he hopes will slaughter some sacred cows. He holds Murray in contempt, but nonetheless seduces Marina, though Danielle is suspect of his motives. Also arriving on the scene is Murray's nephew, Frederick "Bootie" Tubb, a college dropout and autodidact, who leaves behind his suffocating mother in backwater Watertown, New York with a few precious books in tow to learn at the feet of his revered Uncle Murray. Bootie is a mess, an overweight, forlorn figure who has little social skill but a zealous compulsion for personal integrity. Murray, touched by familial good will, takes him under his wing, but as Bootie comes to learn the true nature of the great man he worships, decides to betray his family, and his actions will forever change the dynamics of the family and friendships he touches.
This book was a pleasure to read, as Messud layers on wonderful details and witty conversation. Though when you get right down to it, none of her protagonists are particularly sympathetic (except perhaps Danielle) she somehow manages to make us care about them. Marina is a beautiful spoiled child, really, but there is something so vulnerable about her that it's hard to hate her. Even Bootie, who consults Emerson as his bible, yet makes a couple of decisions that are fundamentally cruel, is not a villain.
As I said, the book takes place in 2001, and the climax is in September, so you can guess what event shakes up everyone's lives in this novel. I suppose this could be considered a 9/11 novel, though that day doesn't occur until the final quarter of the book. I am not sure how I feel about this, because the earlier portions of the book don't fully prepare one for such a blow. It's like watching one of Noel Coward's plays have to deal with the London blitz. Also, there is a whopping coincidence that ends the book, and while it is satisfying, it's a bit too incredulous a note to end on.
At the heart of this book are three friends, graduates of Brown, now at 30 years of age. Marina Thwaite is a former teen model and daughter of Murray Thwaite, an eminent journalist and intellectual. She is aimless, living with her parents on the Upper West Side, trying to finish a book on the semiotics of children's clothing that she's been working on for seven years. Julius Clarke is a gay, half-Vietnamese freelance critic who suffers from both ennui and a sybaritic lifestyle. He lives in a hovel in the Lower East Side, but while office temping seduces his boss, a brash financial analyst. Their friend Danielle is a TV producer. Perhaps because she has Midwestern roots (she hails from Columbus) she's more sensible, and seems to regard the drama of her friends as some sort of extra entertainment. As for Murray, who is the metaphorical "Emperor" of the title, he is a bigwig in the intelligensia, a firebrand liberal from the 1960s who now lives in comfort, surrounded by acolytes and a huge ego.
Two outsiders enter this cozy set-up: Ludovic Seely, an Australian writer, who comes to New York to start a magazine that he hopes will slaughter some sacred cows. He holds Murray in contempt, but nonetheless seduces Marina, though Danielle is suspect of his motives. Also arriving on the scene is Murray's nephew, Frederick "Bootie" Tubb, a college dropout and autodidact, who leaves behind his suffocating mother in backwater Watertown, New York with a few precious books in tow to learn at the feet of his revered Uncle Murray. Bootie is a mess, an overweight, forlorn figure who has little social skill but a zealous compulsion for personal integrity. Murray, touched by familial good will, takes him under his wing, but as Bootie comes to learn the true nature of the great man he worships, decides to betray his family, and his actions will forever change the dynamics of the family and friendships he touches.
This book was a pleasure to read, as Messud layers on wonderful details and witty conversation. Though when you get right down to it, none of her protagonists are particularly sympathetic (except perhaps Danielle) she somehow manages to make us care about them. Marina is a beautiful spoiled child, really, but there is something so vulnerable about her that it's hard to hate her. Even Bootie, who consults Emerson as his bible, yet makes a couple of decisions that are fundamentally cruel, is not a villain.
As I said, the book takes place in 2001, and the climax is in September, so you can guess what event shakes up everyone's lives in this novel. I suppose this could be considered a 9/11 novel, though that day doesn't occur until the final quarter of the book. I am not sure how I feel about this, because the earlier portions of the book don't fully prepare one for such a blow. It's like watching one of Noel Coward's plays have to deal with the London blitz. Also, there is a whopping coincidence that ends the book, and while it is satisfying, it's a bit too incredulous a note to end on.
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