IMPROVEMENT is a novel, mostly centered in New York, but also Berlin and Turkey, about people trying to improve their lives, despite the small or catastrophic tragedies that changed their position or outlook. The people in Silber’s cast are either related to each other by family; their circumstances; by a generation; or by several degrees of separation. In some instances, they are intimately associated with each other, or acquainted, but at times, it is only a casual or chance agency that is relevant. What IS relevant is that they are ordinary people, relatable, with baggage and common problems—money, relationships, insecurities—that make them so familiar and sympathetic.
Reyna and Boyd are a couple; she has a four-year-old, Oliver, from an ex no longer in their lives. Boyd is just out of Rikers for a minor criminal offense, and Reyna is concerned that Boyd wants to go into another life of petty crime with his cousin, Maxwell, and best friend, Claude. She’s not even sure that her and Boyd are meant to be forever. “I was perfectly aware that some part of my life with Boyd was not entirely real, that if you pushed it too hard a whole other feeling would show itself.”
Claude’s sister, Lynette, is an adversary of Reyna’s--they have a strained relationship due to Reyna’s suspicion that Lynette wants to hook up with him. Lynette is an aesthetician, talented in brow work, and wants to own her own salon one day. She is confident that she is capable of making it happen. “The point was to ask for strength. Improvement wasn’t coming any other way.”
One of her steady clients, Monika, a Berlin transplant to NYC, is an art historian for the Met, and married to a Jewish artist whose career is declining, which is putting a strain on their marriage. Julian has a tense relationship with Monika’s mother, who is ailing and living on the dole in Berlin. He still has assumptions that Germany is crawling with anti-Semitism, especially from Monika’s mother. So he resists the potential to start a career in Berlin, where the art community may be more receptive to his installations.
Long ago, unknown to Monika, her mother was a short-term dealer in antiquities, and had briefly met Kiki, Reyna’s aunt, in Istanbul. Aunt Kiki and her braided rugs are like the glue of the story. In some ways, Kiki is closer in degrees of separation to almost everyone, whose choices have a magnifying but subtle effect on the other characters’ personal histories.
Silber keeps the narrative focused on the quotidian, the day to day concerns and activities of her characters, and at times they are braided, like Kiki’s rugs, into a larger narrative or whole piece. Kiki was married in 1970 to a Turkish man and lived in Istanbul and in the countryside, at first helping her husband Osman, in rug trading, and then went with him when he went into farming. She returned, divorced, after eight years, and remains an enigmatic but supportive presence in Reyna’s life. Kiki has never remarried, and lives independently in the East Village.
There are others who populate the novel, some related by death, denial, tragedy or secret affairs. The connections—lost, found, fragile, refuted, or discarded, go back and forth in time and characters. What they held, and what held them. The mind—able to be two places at once—the truth and the lie, the past and the present. “A person could keep the best of certain private things to herself, so they didn’t fade, and she could lie flat-out…out of loyalty to once was. Nothing could get her to take back the lie; she was glad for what she held on to.”
There’s deliverance through the fog and cloud of precarious decisions, even a grand or noble gesture that change perspectives and lives, and allows us to look through the lens of ordinary people at the small but poignant gestures and bits of improvement that grant redemption.