The NYT review for this collection, by Fiona Maazel, opens with, "Lydia Millet is a prolific writer who has won big accolades, and yet somehow I’ve never read her work." (And you're the reviewer of Atavists for the Times why, exactly?)
As it turns out, this is Lydia Millet's 17th book. In fairness, I didn't know of her work until early 2023, almost 20 years after the release of her first novel, and 15 years after her collection Love in Human Monkeys was nominated for a Pulitzer. These days I seek her out. I'll continue to do so, but found Atavists a surprisingly difficult read.
The earth is failing. Families portrayed here are tired, still trying, running (literally, perhaps) on fumes. Endangered and dead animals abound. This is us, here and now. I grew sadder with each story, and increasingly sapped of energy to bring to reading them. A review of any kind feels almost unfair. I didn't expect to be uplifted. But beaten down - I don't know. Reading Atavists ultimately depressed me, which I suppose means its message came through. Still - the overall experience felt like I was like one of the women in a later story: caught out in a chilly rainstorm, not drenching or thunderous, just continuous and exhausting, as I stood still, hoping a safe ride home - or a disastrous gale carrying us all out to sea - something- would arrive.
Some notes on some of the stories:
Tourist
"He's a wife guy, Mom. It's a thing."
Trudy, a peevish middle aged woman looks around the world, looks at her teenage kids, and feels (much like me) tired. She'd planned to be different, to be someone -
"Yet here she was, living in a minor corner of the real."
Millet can't write poorly, that I've ever experienced, but this story felt like a path retraced too often.
"Even the knowledge that in four years he'd be leaving, because it was what they did when the clock struck 18, was like a pocket full of stones."
Dramatist
A 22 year old lost boy, Nick, making claims at becoming a screenplay writer but in reality mostly a Larp player, from the pov of Liza, his humiliated sister. This second piece had an interesting setup, but no story to follow.
Fetishist
Here is Buzz, the dad from the previous story. He adores his son in law, Luis, who is the opposite of his son, Nick. Luis is hardworking, responsible, always pitching in around the house. Then - trouble. Buzz discovers some very specific porn Luis has been looking at on their shared pc - think major age gap, lusty grandmothers. I didn't buy this. Luis, a 20 something, shares a laptop with his father-in-law, and doesn't wipe his browser history after frequently looking at x-rated sites? Nah. Also, why is this Dad's name Buzz, and why does he use terms like 'gnarly'. Also, also Amy, Buzz's wife, is laden with completely unbelievable dialogue. She sounds like Betty Crocker discovering a deflated soufflé.
The strained credibility lessens as the story eventually evolves into Buzz musing over his daughter's future, his own aging. Still, the ending is as truncated as the previous story. I'm mystified.
Artist
Grown daughters, a single mother, unable to combat a lingering negativity, a cloud of depression. One daughter refusing work that isn't meaningful - or not "her bliss"- while mother is a successful artist.
The Therapist
We meet a therapist who sounds like she's not very good at her job. The advice she gives is meager, or off. Then she's on a nature walk with her entomologist partner. They get separated; a storm arrives:
" 'So you're wet,' she told herself. 'Big deal. That's done. At some point you'll be dry again. Just listen, why don't you.' The sounds went on and on and on, spread about her in their inseparable millions, a symphony of water and plants. If she listened without resistance, the sounds would take her beyond the shivering, beyond the inconvenience, into the elemental ... right now, here in the home that made us, we still have the rain."
Cosmetologist
A story about the after effects of loss from a family Covid death - that takes place in a salon where a woman performs bikini waxing. The aesthetician and the client - the client lying bare from the waist down with her legs wide apart - agree that having a child is too risky. A surprisingly contrived entry.
Optimist
Atavists concludes back with Buzz the Dad, Amy the Mom. Buzz is obsessing over potentially performing an act of political kindness, offering shelter to refugees.
Exhausted, Amy goes on a walk with her friend Trudy. They sit, looking out over their neighborhood. Two women talking about the vanishing wildlife, the fires.
"This place was beautiful once," said Trudy, "before we got here and ruined it."
The ending is so viciously bleak that I couldn't react. I didn't expect hope; I had to accept, finally, the I didn't anticipate anything. I just wanted the book to be over. And admitting this feels shameful.