A Struggle (for Voice) A Review of Look at Us by T. L. Toma
1.) This book has a compelling cover image. Congrats to Mulberry Tree Press for its design and to the photographer Avenue.
2.) Skip to chapter twenty-nine. Read chapter twenty-nine.
This is an instructive novel in that it presents the struggle of an author attempting to find his true voice. By voice I mean the individual, clear, powerful way of relating the world through words.
I won’t detail all the variants of voice found in the novel, but will highlight two:
The fist example is the most common: “And then one morning almost two months after he started coming to the café, she asked him to pass the salt.” This style is frequently built on near-same-length sentences that thump like a drum beat at a German soccer game.
The second example is an early anomaly: “He eventually came to view both prospects as the product of an unhealthy preoccupation with his own role in the scheme of things. And so while he continues to be drawn to the notion there may be trapped inside his wife another woman, a wilder woman capable, given the right circumstances, of unleashing colossal forces of concupiscence, his current perspective remains agnostic.”
At first, I was put off by this second sentence, but as I read more, I resonated with me, and when I reached chapter twenty-nine, I saw it had been the first glimpse the author’s true voice attempting to break free.
This voice that finally emerges in chapter twenty-nine and it is Toma’s strength. He finally cuts the anchor of plot based writing that’s been throughout most of the book. Stylistically, a scene is briefly described and then the character spins off in associations, remembrances, and other lines of flight. Chapter twenty-nine is not yet a stand alone short story, but it absolutely is the true, breathing part of the book.
This quote will demonstrate:
At this instant the girl sighs softly—it could register impatience, or boredom, or even indigestion, though Martin interprets it as an obvious expression of pleasure. From this he takes new inspiration. For all he knows, she really does want to run away with him. This sounds far-fetched on the face of it, but think about it. From above the girl, he thinks about it. He imagines the two of them sneaking out at three in the morning and climbing into Lily’s car (his is newer so he will leave his wife that; it is the least he can do) and launching on a cross-country spree where he will show her the real America, not the America of strip malls and take-out burger huts, not the America of the office parks and auto dealerships, not the America of nail salons and mobile-phones and hotel chains drinking glasses clothed in protective plastic wrap and reconstituted scrambled eggs at breakfast, but the America of the out-of-the way B and B and the small country inn, with a four-poster be and mismatched coffee mugs and an egg yolk staring back at you like the sun served on your plate—not the America of some halcyon past, because the past was never halcyon, including as it did human chattel, child labor, genocide, and theocratic fanaticism, but the America that was not yet and should have been…”
This passage continues for a while, and I imagine an entire book like this section will be quite exciting. But again, this voice is confined only to chapter twenty-nine. Is there something in chapter twenty-nine that requires this change of voice, no.
Voice is a serious issue for writers. When a glimmer of a true voice manages to appear, if it is recognized, then what? Does the author see it as the impetus prompting an entire rewrite? Does the author ignore it and dutifully continue in the old voice because of time already invested? When a new voice appears, it marks for an author a critical decision point. Often muddying the decision might be the heavy opinion of an editor, or agent, or readers, that may persuade the author to go after plot rather than embrace their true voice.
That’s it, really. That’s my main takeaway from the novel.
The plot concerns a rich couple, Martin and Lily, and their au pair Maeve, who eventually watches them as they have sex. This might make a strange psychologically interesting novel, but these instances are an aside to the long detailing of quotidian happenings in the course of a struggling marriage. The futures investor, Martin, starts predicting incorrectly and he complains of not being able to live on his salary. Evidently he hasn’t known how to invest his probably large income. There’s a bit more plot but not enough to worry about. The au pair is eventually fired due a misplaced set of earrings they think she stole. In their 14th floor luxury apartment, floorboards creak and the bedroom door won’t close. Where’s the superintendent? Peripheral characters often are portrayed by way of the trope of exotic others. Ozeki’s recent book does this too as I mentioned in a recent review — could editors please call this out in books they edit?
Finally, there are forcing attempts to create layered meaning. The dissertation of Martin, A Stochastic Demonstration of the Principle of Sufficient Reason Using the Saperstein-Hideaki Conjecture (a made up mix of The Principle of Sufficient Reason combined with something like the Russell-Zermelo Paradox) lets us know that some things cannot be mathematically proven, such as affairs of the heart, or the question ‘If God sees all, who sees god?” There is a nod to the Other and it makes me want to follow a lead into Lacan, desire, the other, and the mirror stage, but there’s not enough in the book to warrant an unpacking of either of any of this.
That said, read chapter twenty-nine and compare the writing to some other part of the novel, it’s a little lesson worth looking at.