Claire Carusillo wants you to laugh.
Almost every paragraph in her debut novel, “The Responsible Party,” is mined with whoopie cushions, whether it’s an oddball description or an out-of-left-field one-liner.
One of the story’s heroines, Sarah Mounsey, has an accent that “was mid-Atlantic like a Sharpie-browed talkie siren’s.” Decades earlier, her mother Fanny headed to her doom – aboard the RMS Empress of Ireland, which went down off Canada – “feeling like 31,270 dollars, which is about equivalent to a million bucks today.”
The novel launches with that 1914 shipwreck, followed by the better-known disaster that befell the RMS Lusitania, but don’t worry, Carusillo won’t let the epic tragedies get to you. She writes that a U-boat torpedoed the Lusitania during World War I because the German government had warned British and American civilian ships to stay out of the war zone – or possibly because of “a foreign competitor’s plot to kneecap a Hershey’s syrup smuggling ring operating out of the ship’s cargo hold.”
Such jokes are sure to provoke groans from readers – and, now and again, to cause them confusion. (Carusillo, for both good and ill, has a thing for inventing silly crime outfits – “a gang of pin-curled guttersnipes busted in a neckerchief scalping ring” comes later. She mentions them in passing for no reason at all and then never brings them up again.)
This relentless determination to get you to laugh is endearing – and also a shame, because Carusillo has a story to tell, and she knows how to bring her characters alive. At times, she offers up relatable insight into the human condition, writing that Sarah, soaking in the tub after learning of the Empress of Ireland’s fate, is left “too grievous to masturbate.” The author notes that “the saddest expanses of life are the least interesting to relay, clogged with hair in the drain and incomplete paperwork.”
Carusillo doesn’t trust herself to linger on these moments. She’s much more comfortable with please-like-me razzmatazz.
If you can compartmentalize the jesting, the narrative is compelling. In the present day, a decades-old “bog body” is found in a creek near the family home of a 31-year-old freelance writer named Claire. Through DNA, police determine that a tuft of hair wrapped around the corpse’s tongue belongs to someone related to said freelance scribe. This leads Claire to pull family stories out of her prickly, hard-driving mother, Kath, sending us decades back in time.
The author, in case you’re wondering, narrates the novel as herself.
Would you believe this fictional story is based on true events from the Carusillo family? OK, well, some of the events are true.
On her popular Substack, called That Wet Look, Carusillo has described the novel as “disrespectful historical fiction” and said that two of its key characters – Fanny and Fanny’s daughter Sarah – are “my IRL great-great aunt and great-great-grandmother.”
Carusillo’s great-great aunt and great-great-grandmother indisputably led fascinating lives. Fanny Mounsey did indeed go down with the Empress of Ireland in 1914. She was presumed dead, but then a woman some people believed to be Fanny popped up in Liverpool a year later, very much alive but spouting gibberish. Fanny’s daughter Sarah boarded the Lusitania to retrieve the woman – in real life and in the novel. That ship went down as well, of course, and Sarah actually survived.
In the novel, the fictional Fanny and Sarah eventually make it back to their home in Chicago and become known on the regional vaudeville circuit as the Unsinkable Mounseys – local celebrities, to be sure, though not “accomplished enough to be inducted into the pantheon of Illinois folk heroes like Mary Todd, Casimir Pulaski or the Obama daughter who smokes cigs,” Carusillo writes.
Har-har. And, for the record, the tabloids have caught both of the Obama daughters smoking.