Now I've never liked Mary Gordon, but I have to give the Devil her due. PAYBACK is the most entertaining, outrageous, and irreverent novel she's ever written!
The plot is simple -- a mean girl seeking revenge on the teacher who let her down. But Mary Gordon uses the trashiest of tropes to unleash a truly outrageous heroine. Heidi (later called Quin) steals the book right out from under simpering old Agnes, the well-meaning teacher. Agnes loves the Virgin Mary. And she loves trees. And she loves her dog. But ferocious, unforgiving Quin hates everyone. She's as boldly defiant as Milton's Satan, with all the brooding intensity of the Prince of Darkness. ("I will not serve!") She's as vengeful and driven as Ahab, the one-legged whaling captain in Herman Melville's MOBY DICK. ("What I've dared, I've willed. What I've willed, I'll do!") And she's as probing, incisive, and intimately cruel as Chillingworth in Nathaniel Hawthorne's New England classic THE SCARLET LETTER. (You can almost hear timid, simpering Agnes echoing weak-willed, helpless Dimmesdale. "That old man's revenge has been blacker than my sin!")
What makes all this so remarkable is that Mary Gordon has spent her entire literary career ridiculing American literature, and in particular the classic works of white, Protestant male authors. But this time around, the fat is in the fire. The shoe is on the other foot. And there's no beating around the bush! Quin is Frankenstein's monster, lumbering into town and taking aim at everything her creator holds sacred. Great Art. European culture. Class privilege. Private education. Private beaches. Fancy doorknockers. Not since Marshall Jim Duncan drifted back into Lago in Clint Eastwood's "High Plains Drifter" has there been such a delicious fantasy of revenge!
But these warm-hearted hijinks can be deceiving. Quin gets in plenty of sharp one-liners about things Mary Gordon has always secretly hated. The Sixties Anti-War Movement. Lazy fat chicks. Civil Rights. Quin attacks the dirty loose morals of the Swinging Sixties, the vulgarity of rock music, and the hypocrisy of woke liberals then and now. But sadly, Mary Gordon only lets her go so far. When Agnes runs away to Rome, that's off-limits. Quin never gets to comment on the absurdity of the supposedly Protestant, supposedly New England born Agnes groveling before the decaying idols of Catholic Rome, literally licking the dirt off rotting images of the Virgin Mary. Now this is what a real New England Puritan would call Popish idolatry. But Agnes can't get enough. Idol worship -- it's the new repentance!
Oh, but there's more. When she's newly arrived in Rome, supposedly heart-broken about what happened to young Heidi on her watch, Agnes falls in with a fat and jolly art scholar named Jasper. Now Jasper is a real creep. He makes no secret of his interest in young boys, and he boasts about luring them into bed and using money and intimidation to keep them quiet. (You don't have be a genius to figure out how all this connects to recent events within the Catholic Church.) And what does Agnes do about it? Not a lot, really. She makes excuses. And she looks the other way. And you start to wonder how much she really cares about what happened to Heidi . . . before she became Quin.
Mary Gordon's ethics, to say nothing of her knowledge of American history and the human heart, are shaky at best. But on a mechanical level, this is a very sloppily written book. Quin's dialogue is always sharp and witty, but most of the background is very sketchy. The Farnsworth School, where most of the early action takes place, never really felt real to me. None of the girls, except for evil Heidi, ever mention feeling bored or stir-crazy. And they never mention boys. Heidi's hatred of boys and sex (and dirt, and body odor) is vintage Mary Gordon, but it comes too early, and it's too over the top. It all feels very Irish Catholic, which is strange because Heidi's family is supposed to Swiss. Or Austrian. Mary Gordon can't seem to tell the difference. Or maybe she's just not that interested.
Now Heidi's mom is supposed to be sexy, sinister, and oh-so-exotic, a cross between Anita Ekberg and Ivana Trump. But when she opens her mouth all that comes out is warmed over, blue-collar nastiness from Mary Gordon's old neighborhood. ("Art? Beauty? Who needs it? Stifle yourself, Edith!") And that's the problem, really. Mary Gordon, who hates Trump, who desperately wants to be a lady, will always have a lot more in common with Archie Bunker and the Donald than with Jane Austen or Nathaniel Hawthorne. Or the Virgin Mary, for that matter.
But still, as Mary Gordon novels go, this one was a lot of fun. I just wish Agnes' son in law Marcus did more than shuffle in and out with trays of food and drink. I mean, I know she adores him, because Mary Gordon says so. A lot. But these days black men do a lot more than just take care of their white folks. For my money, Marcus is a little too quick to step and fetch it, a little too eager to tell Agnes how special she is. (Though her pure, maidenly blush when he gently reminds her that black people are used to being hated is truly priceless.) Come to think of it, it's strange how Marcus never sees Quin's point of view about being excluded from things. When evil Quin moves in next door, he's just as shocked and angry as everyone else.
If I was Marcus, I'd just laugh and say "there goes the neighborhood!"