So, Jennifer W in Gotham and Mark P in Oz were getting all up in my business, wanting me to read Tessa Hadley. They both know that I don’t like my literature to exceed the year 2000, but they were so nudgy and all.
This novel of Ms. Hadley’s was published in 2003, so, close enough to my cut-off to qualify, and Mark P was willing to do a buddy read with me, so here we are, with my first (and certainly not my last) Tessa Hadley read.
The title, EVERYTHING WILL BE ALL RIGHT, is uninspired. It means nothing, and there wasn’t one point in the story where that descriptor made sense to me. They might as well have titled it: A BOOK YOU MIGHT LIKE. Also, I had two different versions with two different covers, and they were both as ugly as sin. Hey, Tessa Hadley’s publisher: give this writer the covers she deserves! And, how about promoting her more effectively? (And how about better titles, while we’re bitching about things??)
I had no idea Ms. Hadley was British (I would have read her sooner), and I had no idea she was a peer of one of my all-time favorite writers, Greek-American author, Jeffrey Eugenides.
Both Mr. Eugenides and Ms. Hadley are gifted in deftly conducting the flow of a story through the macro and the micro.
What I mean by that: they both start the show with a big boom of music, then, like gifted conductors, they let you see all of the little subtle parts that make the magic. Like, who realized there were flutes playing softly in there while the bigger instruments banged about?
If I were asked to describe this novel by using just one sentence from the story itself, I’d use this one:
A kind of rage flared up in her at her mother and her aunt, that they were so unknowing, so helpless themselves. . .
This is what this story is about: how four generations of women navigate life, knowing, early on, that not one of them who has walked the walk before them has done a bang-up job of it all, either.
I was captivated by all of the women, but, for me, it was Joyce’s story that completely inhabited my mind. I would have discussed Joyce in detail with my reading partner, Mark, but he was roaring around Adelaide (wherever the hell that is) apparently reading the book from the back of some sort of motorcycle whose details I should know by now, but I’m disinterested in everything with an engine.
Dust gets in your eyes.
So, here we are. I’m Tessa Hadley’s newest fan. Glad to meet you, lady (ugly covers and all).
Ms. Hadley’s style seems so casual, like she’s just scribbling a little something something on the back of a notepad, in pencil, or maybe she’s telling you the story of someone’s failed marriage, over a good cup of coffee.
But, none of this is casual. Writing like this is never casual.