The “red book” is an anniversary chronicle that is passed to Harvard alumni every five years, asking them for basic information, such as address, email, occupation, spouse/partner, children, if any, and a concise summary of the past half-decade of their lives. The author uses this framework to enlarge on these capsulized lives of several 1989 graduates, and constructs an ensemble comedy/drama that entertains as it engages, moves while it thrills.
The central story focuses on four women who graduated together—Addison, Clover, Mia, and Jane. Secondary and tertiary characters include spouses, lovers, friends, children, and other graduates that fill in the spaces and paint a portrait of a once close-knit community that has diverged over the past two decades. As the twenty-year reunion in Cambridge approaches, certain lives are headed toward catastrophe, some are on a precipice, and many are headed into serious change.
Addison is stuck in a static marriage with a thoughtless, selfish man who barely helped raise their kids. Clover struggles with fertility issues and an employment problem. Her banking career went belly-up with the 2008 economic collapse, and her husband refuses to squirt in a specimen cup. Mia is happily married to a prominent, much older Hollywood director, has two teenagers and a new baby, but is blind to the truth of their assets.
Jane, a widow and successful journalist, lived in Paris with her daughter and boyfriend until he betrayed her trust while she was in Boston caring for her terminally ill mother. Jane knew grief at a tender age—she was a Vietnamese child orphan, a casualty of war, then adopted by Americans. She is about to discover some harsh realities about her late husband and some shocking revelations about her (adoptive) mother as she meets up with old classmates and attempts to close a house full of memories—and secrets.
In lesser hands, this could be a stale, derivative soap opera with candy-coated characters. But Kogan breathes oxygen into this big Chill-Fire-Breakfast forty-something tale of overlapping lives, gathering friends (and adversaries), and familiar themes of loss, love, and redemption. There are a few expedient twists, but they are authentic to the story and cast. Some readers will complain that the pace is pokey, but I thoroughly enjoyed the languid clip; it inevitably picks up at just the right moments.
The book’s strength rests on the author’s style and narrative arrangement. She cross-pollinates her characters and their individual stories, creating fresh knots of tension and torsion. Resentments acquired during college re-emerge when characters clash on common ground; old love affairs have new influence; buried feelings are exposed; confessions lead to transformation. As the reader, you alternate from active participation in the story’s events, to being a beady-eyed observer, to inhabiting the characters emotionally.
Kogan commands us with an almost imperceptible subtlety—you don’t recognize the mental shifts until later, when you realize that the story’s power pivots on its structure. The philosophical digressions loop back, the long sentences undulate in the chambers of its heart. The author stands back, with her verbal camera, mastering the narrative aperture. The light slants through her prose, or demurs to darkness falling on the page.
“Narrative is much less about the facts of the tale itself—who did what where when, and why…than it is about how the narrator frames the story, what she feels about the story, when she chooses to tell it, where and why she tells it…”