Just finished reading "Be Mine," a novel by Laura Kasischke. It's the second novel I've read by this author in as many weeks (the first one was "Mind of Winter;" more on that one in a later post.) Where do I begin?
The main character of "Be Mine," Sherry Seymour (great name, that, kind of like the sweetness of cooking sherry mixed with a supermodel-y sounding last name), opens the story with her musings on a variety of things that I could identify with as a middle-aged mom with one child who's started college this year and another who has just three more years to go in high school. In the novel, Sherry's son Chad is 18 and is away at college. Sherry teaches English at a local junior college, where her best friend, Sue, (who really isn't) also teaches and her son's childhood best friend, Garrett, takes classes in the auto shop. Sherry has been married to her husband, Jon (I've always found this spelling to be a bit wimpy without the 'h';) for twenty years. This is both the theme and the mantra throughout the novel ("We've been married for twenty years, blah blah blah").
I wanted to like Sherry, because as previously mentioned, we have many things in common. But as the story progresses. the character is illuminated in an unflattering light. A big issue of mine: Sherry has no perception of herself as a "self," or as a fully functioning individual separate from those she is obligated to (her husband and son), those she is friends with (Sue and a couple of others) and those who find her attractive (seemingly every male in her immediate orbit, which I found disturbing and a little lame at the same time). I mean, really, unless you actually ARE a supermodel, and even if you do work out on the elliptical machine regularly as Sherry does, would every guy in your life be sniffing after a middle-aged working mom & wife? I think not.
Until she starts receiving notes, asking her to "Be Mine," Sherry's life appears to be fairly satisfying; her roles and her reactions to them seem clearly defined and understood, including the stifling and over-nurturing approach to parenting her son, Chad, and her self-satisfied yet bemused continental drift through her marriage with Jon. However, when the notes start appearing in her mailbox, an identity crisis begins for Sherry, who struggles with the selves she sees reflected back from the males in her life: Bram, the auto shop instructor whom she believes is sending her the notes, which goads her into a very ill-thought-out affair with him (and seriously, who up-ends a twenty-year marriage in the blink of an eye just because you think some guy is sending you mash notes, and then you go fall into bed with that guy?); Garrett, who seems to see her both as a surrogate for his deceased mother and an object of his innocent crush (though both Bram and Garrett both discuss how "hot" they find Sherry, though for obviously different reasons); Chad, her son, who seems both drawn to and repelled by her smothering mother-love, yet doesn't want to share that love with anyone else (as poor orphan Garrett finds out the hard way); Jon, her husband, who seems blandly perfect, but after twenty years of marriage, needs the thrill of another man's interest to re-light his sexual pilot light for his wife; and lastly, Sherry's father who doesn't seem to regard her at all as he quietly wastes away in a nursing home. In a lesser role, there is John Z, a fellow faculty member, who Sherry believes is gay because he seems to have no interest in her except as a colleague. The only female Sherry has any sort of relationship with is her best friend of twenty years (this twenty year thing with her husband and friend is more of a curse than a blessing, as it turns out) Sue, whose cruel joke is the catalyst for the entire story.
Sherry's affair with Bram (and this is not a spoiler because the book jacket even mentions it) quickly spirals out of control, most likely because once her "peaceful" routine is shattered, the lack of her sense of self sends her seeking it from him and Jon and Garrett and Chad. Who is Sherry when someone isn't considering her hot, or an object of desire, something to dominate sexually, or their daughter, or their mother/wife/cook/housekeeper? She exists only to serve those around her and she never gets angry about it. She is by turns puzzled, hurt, turned on, worried, or nurturing, but as her son states later in the book, she just can't stand up for herself or assert an opinion. She's almost like one of those women who've been raised being told how pretty they are, to be nothing but somebody's object or ornament, but that doesn't ring true with the background that the author has created for her main character, so I couldn't quite hang my hat on that idea all the way through.
Sherry's lack of self leads to her unwitting endorsement of the events that Sue sets in motion. When she has to rely on her own confidence and her own decision-making (she even acknowledges during the denouement that her husband took care of everything in their lives; home repairs, their finances, the squirrels that made nests in their attic, everything; she ultimately has to rely on him to take care of something really bad that she obliquely caused), the construct that she believes to be her life ends up being her life sentence and her willingness to continually give away her power over herself becomes her undoing.