I’ve been putting off reading ‘No Strings’ for a little bit. It’s silly, really. I know that Lucy Bexley can WRITE. Like, write the heck out of words. Collect them and join them and make them have a bit of a chat so that by the time we get eyeballs on those words, they’ve become an outstanding story and you’re immersed, folks. That’s what a Bexley book does.
Because Lucy can write like she does and because a lot of this book talks about bipolar, I knew that some of it was going to hit close. Not totally hit, like a well-aimed frypan when you’re trying to brain an intruder, but fly past just close enough to make me catch my breath.
That’s the thing about bipolar. It often flies past but actually you can’t catch your breath and understanding why takes a lot of determination.
We’ll get to that.
First, let’s talk about the humour, the fun, the awesome ridiculous. Elsie Webb, writer, actor, the actual creator—thanks very much—of the hugely popular children’s show ‘Fangley Heights’ is heavily invested in fun. It’s the one thing she takes seriously. Working for Haelstrom Media, the parent company of the show, is not fun and there are way too many strings attached to her job and she can’t find a handy pair of scissors.
Jones Haelstrom still isn’t sure, when she was little, that the invitation to when fun was being handed out got lost in the mail. Her life is ordered and structured and not fun, really. Jones flies from LA to New York because her father—who she never really knew—dies and his very young wife—who Jones also doesn’t know really well—flies off to Bali/Bermuda/Back of Beyond, leaving Jones to take care of the house, Bentley—her six year old brother—and the CEO-ing of Haelstrom Media. It’s a lot.
Jones pops into the studio, completely unsure what it is that she’s actually supposed to be CEO-ing. She watches the filming of an episode of ‘Fangley Heights’ and of course she meets Elsie. The two can’t be more different; their outlooks on life, their observations of people, their beliefs about what constitutes a concern. Oops. Lots of strings floating about, untethered, looking for a home.
That’s how strings work, you know. Pretending to be all untethered and everything. Because when Elsie and Jones decide that their burgeoning… ‘thing’…should be sans strings, those floaty and untethered strings laugh diabolically and become fibrous guided missiles.
As in ‘Must Love Silence’ (another Bexley book I loved - see essay-thingy) Lucy delivers the real via a character’s wisdom, like Avery, Elsie’s enby flatmate, the raw via insightful analogies, then the self-deprecating or the slapstick or observations of the ludicrous, just to smooth it out. She makes us feel things through the characters, and for the characters, then gives us a chance to breathe with sharp, witty humour. Actually, we don’t get to breathe then either, since we’re laughing so hard.
Much of the humour comes from Elsie who has developed her talent for keeping people at bay by deflecting their depth of affection, by deflecting difficult discussions, by commentating on life to push it away from her own. It comes across in her scripts for the children’s show. The permission that the puppets give for the other characters to express emotions and make connections gives Elsie a chance to see what it could be like to attach some strings. The important point that Lucy Bexley makes—completely on purpose—is that Elsie’s puppets are not marionettes. They are hand puppets and therefore they don’t have strings. Handy, that. The not-having-strings thing. It makes it easier, whether they want to or not, for the humans behind to collect so many.
Elsie isn’t a fan of strings, but she has them; right there wrapped around her heart. Strings which tie her to Fangley (her puppet), to Avery, to the people in her daily life who she uses as material for the show. The problem is that Elsie believes strings are trip hazards. It’s a shame that Jones becomes a hypothetical OH&S incident report; what with the strings that aren’t supposed to be there because Elsie and Jones write a contract and agree upon the no strings policy and…oh dear.
Jones is a no strings kinda gal as well, but for an entirely different reason. Jones has bipolar disorder and oh my God, Lucy Bexley writes this chemical imbalance disorder with care, with insight, and with the nuance that it needs because each person experiences bipolar differently. The majority of the story is quite fast-paced, except when Jones is in the depths of a depressive episode. Lucy slows the pace, lengthens the sentences, makes room for us to sit with Jones and understand.
The fast/slow prose is so bloody clever. How about this for a beautiful sentence…
“She couldn’t explain her depression or her bouts of mania, so she’d found it was better not to mention them at all.”
You know how we talk about ‘straight passing’ queer folk. Bipolar folk attempt the same but as ‘normal passing’, because it disturbs people if you’re too happy or too sad or too much.
Jones doesn’t pick up loose strings or give out the ones she has because to do so means that other people might see inside and they’d drop their end of the string and run and Jones would be left holding a collection of limp cords. Self-protection. Don’t be vulnerable. Pass as normal.
Talk about resonating. I was a veritable tuning fork when I sat with Jones in her chapters.
Jones has a controlled, rigidly calm mania. No wild high, high, highs. No benders, or alcoholic-infused trips to metaphorical Bali. Just exhaustion from a lack of sleep because her brain won’t stop.
“Even as a kid she’d been vigilant against feeling uninhibited. So many times it had been a harbinger of the high before the crash.”
The problem is that your brain is only inside your head through sheer willpower; you tie it down with some string. A lot of bipolar is up and down to the side to the left to the side to the left now spin your partner round and round and back to the start and here we go again. It’s easy to become tangled in those strings.
“Sometimes the thought of dealing with the flotsam of messes left by the wave of her low was enough to pull her back under.”
So, unhelpfully, along comes New York and Bentley and management and a dead father and his missing wife which is distressing…and Elsie, who is pure joy. Jones is both attracted to and fearful of Elsie because in her experience “unbridled joy…was almost always false.”
I feel like Jones has the most macrame to create. Elsie already has strings; some she doesn’t even realise. Jones? Maybe she’s never been into a store that even sold string. With each step forward in their relationship, they create tiny knots in their string lines and forget that they both know how to use scissors. Wait until you get to the library scene with Bentley and Elsie. What a gorgeous thread that is when it joins those two through Elsie’s elaborate storytelling and Bentley’s wonder. That thread of contentment and permanency.
Strings tether us to things that matter. Elsie and Jones discover that their strings are made of love; like Christmas lights that sparkle.
Elsie says that; “Loving someone was so much more than taking care of them.”
Vulnerability is a string.
Happiness is a string.
There is no great break-up in this story; no lack of communication, or tantrum about not listening or fight about the colour of a main character’s car. Instead, Jones and Elsie tug at the ends of their strings. At the same time. Then walk towards each other because vulnerability and happiness and love together can create a single length of the enduring.
It would be a perfect amount of whelms to be inside Lucy Bexley’s mind. What an amazing place; full of colour, and metaphors, and analogies, and trees that are fairy floss and—I don’t know about the trees but it’s probably true. She’s a wonderful writer and ‘No Strings’ is another excellent book, all because Lucy spent time watching coloured clouds chase each other across the rainbow sky in her brain.