The Gin Closet by Leslie Jamison [Book]
From amazon vine, I chose The Gin Closet by Leslie Jamison for the sole reason that I didn't like any of the other books on the list.
But like other books that I have chosen for a reason that sits just above 'eenie-meenie-minie-mo' (see The Sweetheart of Prosper County which was wonderful), Jamison's debut novel hit me hard and in the right places.
The title is meant to be taken literally. Tilly, one of the two heroines, is an alcoholic. Her alcoholism has been with her forever. So has the depression that she uses alcohol to mask. She lives in a trailer in Lovelock, Nevada. Her only son was begotten from one of her clients when she was a prostitute. The man raised the child. Tilly got to see him two weeks out of the year. The set up sounds bad but given Tilly's life, it isn't much of a choice.
The other heroine is Stella, Tilly's niece. The story opens with Stella taking care of her grandmother Lucy. As Lucy's condition worsens, she opens up to Stella about the daughter that Stella had never heard of. After Lucy dies, Stella and her brother Tom go to deliver a letter to Tilly from their mother. Upon meeting Tilly, Stella finds a reason to give up her lonely life in New York City and latches on to Tilly like a crusade.
It is Stella who gets the idea that she and Tilly should go to San Francisco to stay with Tilly's son Abe, who has his work but who Tilly suspects is also lonely too.
The events in the novel are not really events at all, but a series of mundane moments and a collection of memories from Stella and Tilly that relate to the reader of how each woman got to where they are.
It is one of the most melancholy books that I have read in a long time. Yet it is hauntingly recognizable. In particular, Tilly's alcoholism rang painfully real. My uncle was an alcoholic for as long as I knew him. He tried several times to get off the sauce. He failed over and over. In the end, it was easier to deal with him as someone who had his binges. His family managed. He managed. And as my cousin often said, it was harder on him than it was on them.
Tilly's not quite like that. Her son wants her to get better. But she's not going to get better. Sometimes that happens in that there is no happy recovery. That's the painful yet strangely beautiful piece of the novel. In spite of Tilly's problem, she's a loving person. Her son knows it. Stella knows it.
Jamison takes the reader through the troubled path of Stella and Tilly with prose so sharp yet smooth that one doesn't realize how fast it is going. One moment I was opening the book and the next, I was on Tilly's last chapter. It reads so easy and memorably.
And when the end comes, it is so soft that it will feel like there was no other ending. It'll feel right and sad and hopeful all at the same time.
Six months ago, I would've stayed away from a book like this. My head wasn't in the right place and it would've depressed me for days.
But now I can appreciate this kind of literary melancholy again and recognize the tentative hope that comes at the end.
And oh, the writing was amazing. Jamison has a touch above average and then some. I am envious and it feels good.
But like other books that I have chosen for a reason that sits just above 'eenie-meenie-minie-mo' (see The Sweetheart of Prosper County which was wonderful), Jamison's debut novel hit me hard and in the right places.
The title is meant to be taken literally. Tilly, one of the two heroines, is an alcoholic. Her alcoholism has been with her forever. So has the depression that she uses alcohol to mask. She lives in a trailer in Lovelock, Nevada. Her only son was begotten from one of her clients when she was a prostitute. The man raised the child. Tilly got to see him two weeks out of the year. The set up sounds bad but given Tilly's life, it isn't much of a choice.
The other heroine is Stella, Tilly's niece. The story opens with Stella taking care of her grandmother Lucy. As Lucy's condition worsens, she opens up to Stella about the daughter that Stella had never heard of. After Lucy dies, Stella and her brother Tom go to deliver a letter to Tilly from their mother. Upon meeting Tilly, Stella finds a reason to give up her lonely life in New York City and latches on to Tilly like a crusade.
It is Stella who gets the idea that she and Tilly should go to San Francisco to stay with Tilly's son Abe, who has his work but who Tilly suspects is also lonely too.
The events in the novel are not really events at all, but a series of mundane moments and a collection of memories from Stella and Tilly that relate to the reader of how each woman got to where they are.
It is one of the most melancholy books that I have read in a long time. Yet it is hauntingly recognizable. In particular, Tilly's alcoholism rang painfully real. My uncle was an alcoholic for as long as I knew him. He tried several times to get off the sauce. He failed over and over. In the end, it was easier to deal with him as someone who had his binges. His family managed. He managed. And as my cousin often said, it was harder on him than it was on them.
Tilly's not quite like that. Her son wants her to get better. But she's not going to get better. Sometimes that happens in that there is no happy recovery. That's the painful yet strangely beautiful piece of the novel. In spite of Tilly's problem, she's a loving person. Her son knows it. Stella knows it.
Jamison takes the reader through the troubled path of Stella and Tilly with prose so sharp yet smooth that one doesn't realize how fast it is going. One moment I was opening the book and the next, I was on Tilly's last chapter. It reads so easy and memorably.
And when the end comes, it is so soft that it will feel like there was no other ending. It'll feel right and sad and hopeful all at the same time.
Six months ago, I would've stayed away from a book like this. My head wasn't in the right place and it would've depressed me for days.
But now I can appreciate this kind of literary melancholy again and recognize the tentative hope that comes at the end.
And oh, the writing was amazing. Jamison has a touch above average and then some. I am envious and it feels good.