The accidents of everyday life bring both tragedy and hope into the lives of two ordinary but spiritually wounded Baltimoreans in Anne Tyler’s 1985 novel The Accidental Tourist. This novel, a Pulitzer Prize finalist, provides a particularly strong introduction to the work of a writer with a gift for placing quirky, individualistic characters in unique dilemmas, all within a vividly realized contemporary setting.
Tyler, who was born in Minneapolis but grew up in North Carolina, brought her Southern storytelling sensibilities to Baltimore when she moved with her family to Maryland’s largest city in her early twenties; John Updike, in The New Yorker, famously described Tyler’s border-state locale as “a Baltimore with only southern exits.” Themes of family and fate predominate in Tyler’s work in the same way they do in the work of writers who are more typically associated with Southern U.S. literature.
The main character of The Accidental Tourist, Macon Leary, is a travel writer who might be dubbed an “anti-travel” writer. His “Accidental Tourist” travel books are directed toward businesspeople who must travel for business but would rather not be doing so. Leary tells the readers of his “Accidental Tourist” books not where to go in their international travels for something that will be novel and interesting, but rather, where to go for something that will make the traveller feel right at home: a Tokyo hotel that conveys the same vibe as a Holiday Inn on Ritchie Highway in Glen Burnie, or a steak au poivre at a Paris bistro that tastes just like the ribeye from one’s favorite steakhouse in Timonium. Given that this is Macon’s profession, it should be no surprise that Macon is an exceedingly orderly, control-oriented – even emotionally blocked – individual, as described by the novel’s narrator:
Oh, above all else he was an orderly man. He was happiest with a regular scheme of things. He tended to eat the same meals over and over and to wear the same clothes; to drop off his cleaning on a certain set day, and to pay all his bills on another. The teller who helped him on his first trip to a bank was the teller he went to forever after, even if she proved not to be efficient, even if the next teller’s line was shorter. (p. 201)
Macon’s reserved ways are exacerbated by a family tragedy; he retreats further into a largely inaccessible emotional state. His wife Sarah, frustrated by his inability to connect with her in their shared grief, leaves him, and her departure leaves him desolate and even more alone. Compounding the situation, for Macon, is the fact that the family dog Edward, who remains with Macon when Sarah leaves, becomes ill-behaved and completely unmanageable.
Enter a new character, Muriel Pritchett, the catalyst who will bring about a dramatic and much-needed change in Macon’s emotional life. Muriel, in another case of the distinctive be-your-own-boss entrepreneurial businesses through which so many characters in Tyler’s fiction make a living, is a dog trainer who promises that she can get even the most recalcitrant dog to behave.
Muriel is quite different from Macon; she is considerably younger, and her background is more working-class, in contrast to Macon’s rigidly upper-middle-class ways. She wears, for instance, a black vinyl raincoat that Macon, with his starched standards of propriety, finds abhorrent. Where Macon is careful and reserved, Muriel is open and uninhibited – qualities that come through in her manner of speaking, as when she is talking with Macon about her family at a time when she is supposed to be teaching Edward how to walk properly:
“Some of my teachers told me I should go to college,” she said. “This one in particular, well she wasn’t a teacher but a librarian, I worked in the library for her, shelving books and things; she said, ‘Muriel, why don’t you go on to Towson State?’ But I don’t know…and now I tell my sister, ‘You be thinking of college, hear? Don’t drop out like I dropped out.’ I’ve got this little sister? Claire? Her hair never turned. She’s blond as an angel. Here’s what’s funny, though: she couldn’t care less. Braids her hair back any old how to keep it out of her eyes. Wears raggy jeans and forgets to shave her legs. Doesn’t it always work that way? My folks believe she’s wonderful. She’s the good one and I’m the bad one. It’s not her fault, though; I don’t blame Claire. People just get fixed in these certain frames of other people’s opinions, don’t you find that’s true?” (pp. 101-02)
Imagine the effect that all this has on Macon, who just wants someone to teach his dog how to behave on a walk.
But this part of The Accidental Tourist does more than demonstrate Tyler’s talent for giving each of her characters a distinctive voice. In the course of these reflections, Muriel finds herself looking back at her high school years and reflecting sadly on how the boys were proposing to her sister while merely making passes at her. “You think that didn’t hurt my feelings?” Muriel tells Macon. “Not one boy in all that time treated me like a steady girlfriend. They’d ask me out on Saturday night and expect me to be so nice to them, but you think they ever ate lunch with me next Monday in the school cafeteria, or walked me from class to class?” (p. 102)
In short, Muriel has experienced emotional trauma of her own, just as Macon has; and it is heartwarming to see how these two emotionally damaged characters come to be drawn toward one another, learning from each other and influencing each other, in a classic case of “opposites attract.”
Sarah re-enters Macon’s life late in the novel, and it seems for a time as if Macon may leave a deeply hurt Muriel and return to life with his estranged wife, as seen in a lunchtime dialogue at the Old Bay restaurant:
“Macon, I think that after a certain age people just don’t have a choice,” Sarah said. “You’re who I’m with. It’s too late for me to change. I’ve used up too much of my life now.”
You mean to tell me you can just use a person up and then move on? Muriel had asked.
Evidently so, was the answer. For even if he had stayed with Muriel, then wouldn’t Sarah have been left behind?
“After a certain age,” he told Sarah, “it seems to me you can only choose what to lose.”
“What?” she said.
“I mean there’s going to be something you have to give up, whichever way you cut it.”
“Well, of course,” she said.
He supposed she’d always known that. (p. 301)
As The Accidental Tourist moves toward its conclusion, the reader senses that if Macon remains with Sarah, he will be, in a way, choosing to take an “Accidental Tourist” approach to his own life – following the option that offers safety and the comfort of the familiar. Going with Muriel, on the other hand, would involve taking risks – setting forth on a new path.
The Accidental Tourist is probably one of the best-known of Tyler’s two dozen novels, in part because it was the subject of a big-budget film adaptation in 1988. Rarely has a movie been so well cast – William Hurt as Macon, Kathleen Turner as Sarah, Geena Davis as Muriel – and director Lawrence Kasdan makes good use of Baltimore-area filming locations like Roland Park and Towson. But one need not have seen Kasdan’s fine film to enjoy Tyler’s novel. With its perceptive characterizations and pellucid prose style, The Accidental Tourist is a novel whose excellence is anything but accidental.