Lily knew her husband of three years was rich, powerful, and cunning, but he still surprises her when—after their divorce—he drains her bank accounts, turns her few friends against her, and secures custody of their baby, Anne.
Lily tries everything… But nothing works.
Faced with sudden homelessness and the knowledge she can neither outfox her ex or discover where he has hidden baby Anne, Lily turns to the irrational—a vintage “executive decision maker” she found at a local thrift store. The little spinning wheel was intended to poke fun at the sometimes random choices business leaders make—but Lily spins the wheel and is led straight to Anne. She takes the child and runs. She spins again and again—staying off the grid and avoiding capture.
For two years she runs, traveling nearly two thousand miles as the wheel takes her from Salt Lake City to Canada and beyond…
Spin!
In addition to narrative, the novel uses an arc of creative non-fiction pieces—digressions into probability theory, space-time, philosophy, literary criticism, the lore and science of love. The novel also includes images that accompany the text. Amy Bennion, who teaches art at University of North Florida, drew these as if they came from Lily’s sketchbook.
I really enjoyed this book. At first, I was worried that Lily's situation would be too stressful for me to read about, but the frequent philosophical discussions and reminders that I was, in fact, reading a novel and not a true story, helped me stay calm and not get too emotionally involved.
This book was intense, and even if I don't like many of the situations Lily found herself in, I think it is good for me to think about how people are in terrible situations like hers every day.
I do wish that one time in the book, a person who was formally aligned with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had been helpful to Lily. Every time she met someone who claimed alignment (worked at the storehouse, gave her a book of Mormon), they ended up trying to turn her in or being completely unhelpful.
I also wanted the book's narrator to feel some absolution for all the things he felt guilty about. The philosophical sections were wonderful, but by the end, I just wanted to wrap that poor man up in a blanket, hand him some cocoa, and remind him that even though he has a good sense of what is wrong in the world, he isn't responsible for any of it. He is actually one of the ones making it better.
On the one hand, it's the story of Lily, a young woman betrayed by her narcissistic husband, trying to use all her power to reunite with her baby daughter Anne and escape together to somewhere safe. But nowhere ever seems to be safe; her husband is always one step ahead of her, cutting her off. It's absolutely hard to read. Is it a realistic portrayal of what such an escape might be like? I don't know, but at times I just wanted the author to give her a break. The times when Lily is settled for a while, off the grid and with a chance to think, allow you to really get to know her, which makes it harder when she is beset by trouble again.
Intruding into this story are autobiographical ramblings, essays in the most literal sense, where the author contemplates what is happening in the story and why and how it relates to his own life. These segments really captured the voice of the author, made you understand how confused and hurt he felt about the nature of the world sometimes. This voice moderated some of the horror and despair of the Lily plotline, inserting a space between the reader and the novel, reminding you that it's all made up and forcing you to grapple with why the author made it this way.
The portrayal of my own faith community is absolutely painful. No Mormons are ever kind to Lily; most of them are actively hostile and harmful towards her. I willingly agree that there are some people like this in the church, but everyone? It's hard to read a book that portrays my community with such a dark brush (not just individual characters but the entire structure). But maybe this is the point of the book: Lily's world is so black that there's no room for hope, goodness, or even logic. It's a world determined entirely by chance.
Lily divorces from her powerful and narcissistic husband, leaving her with nothing. Lily is determined to be with her daughter, even if it means kidnapping her! With the help of a randomization device, fate/God/the author brings her to what she needs when she needs it (most of the time). Her life on the run, including her homelessness, is incredibly stressful to read about, and the details make it even more realistic. Things do ease up, and John Bennion has multiple first-person narrative digressions in his voice--a voice so distinct I could hear him talking. He talked about how, when Lily uses the randomization device, he as an author also uses a randomization device to determine the story's narrative (i.e., he flips a coin or gets a random number generator out). Why does he do this?
This is a question I am really wondering about. If I think about, it kind of makes me annoyed. You're an author! You should want to say something and then do that! But deciding to make randomization a co-author of your story is a distinct narrative decision. In the AML book club discussion, one woman mentioned that, when you are undergoing a mental breakdown, sometimes it feels too difficult to make a decision, and having something else make a decision "for" you can help you move forward. So narratively, it can make sense. But the way the spinner helped her locate her daughter and safety seemed highly improbable. John explicitly relates the spinner to the Liahona in the Book of Mormon, a device oft-imagined as a compass that shows the right direction to go in, if the user is righteous. Is the spinner a way for Lily to petition the god of her universe--John?
I also had questions about the usefulness of John's explanations in his narrative insertions. It's more satisfying for me as a reader to make connections myself, rather than having John explain them to me. And constant reminders of the author pulled me out of the immersive experience of being in the story. There were a bunch of things that John said in his essayistic forays that he was saying a lot better with his story. But I also liked hearing from him??
I feel conflicted about a lot of the methods in this book, and I think that is what a good experimental novel will do: challenge our assumptions about what a novel should be. Why should the author have a complete narrative in mind when he writes a book? Why shouldn't the author reflect on their own writing in their novel? I like this feeling of being at unease.
I received a copy of this book for free in return for my honest review.
Bennion makes the interesting choice of combining a tense thriller (about Lily, a young mother who kidnaps her daughter and goes on the run after her pathologically narcissistic ex-husband separates them) with frequent authorial essays on the social factors that informed many of the events, his personal connection to and ideas about the events, and the writing process. He has the protagonist decide to rely on a spinning wheel to make all of her decisions, and he claims that he used a similar wheel in his writing, allowing it to determine the fate of the characters. The thriller aspect worked very well, I was hooked. He did a great job creating Lily, and putting her through a series of terrible and desperate choices.
(Spoiler): I was waiting for the initially sincere authorial essays to take an untrustworthy swing, but it never did, he remained sincere throughout. His socially progressive deconstructing of society's sexism and other ills could be a bit much at times, but I still enjoyed the whole book.
I loved the element of chance in this book's structure as well as its combination of fiction and nonfiction that "breaks the fourth wall," something I haven't really seen in a novel before in this way.
Despite its experimental nature, this isn't the kind of pretentious art book you drag your way through. It's a page-turner as well as being deeply emotional. The art augments this feeling, and I feel like a more empathetic person having read this book.
There's a strange mix of essay and narrative fiction behind this cover. While I appreciate the creativity of that, at times I found each interfered with the other. But at other times, the pairing was fascinating. An example that was both fascinating and problematic occured in an essay in which the author pointed out the flaws his beta readers mentioned about the plotting in the fiction. I'd rather have seen the essays collected and appearing after the conclusion of the novel. There's value in them, particularly for student writers and some may prefer to read the fiction narrative first, then return for the essays.
With that said, Bennion's prose is always a delight to read.