{"id":148639,"date":"2020-10-27T09:00:34","date_gmt":"2020-10-27T13:00:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=148639"},"modified":"2020-10-27T12:21:56","modified_gmt":"2020-10-27T16:21:56","slug":"the-stylish-disaffection-of-divorcing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/10\/27\/the-stylish-disaffection-of-divorcing\/","title":{"rendered":"The Stylish Disaffection of \u201cDivorcing\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Susan Taubes\u2019s fiction is animated by an unbearable awareness of death. Her first and only novel, Divorcing <\/em>(1969), had the working title To America and Back in a Coffin<\/em>. (An apt title, but deemed unmarketable and rejected by her publishers.) Like her contemporary Ingeborg Bachmann, Taubes\u2019s fiction transposes existential mysteries with aesthetic ones. (There are other similarities between the pair: both published only one novel; both novels feature a love interest named Ivan; neither writer would live to see fifty.) Long out of print, Divorcing <\/em>will finally be reissued by NYRB Classics this month. Taubes\u2019s foreshortened oeuvre\u2014this novel, an unpublished novella, a handful of stories\u2014offers a range of formal precarities that mirror states of inward collapse. Fiction seemed to give shape to her own vulnerability. A lifelong depressive, she took her own life mere weeks after Divorcing<\/em> was published. Her close friend Susan Sontag later suggested it was Hugh Kenner\u2019s New York Times <\/em>review that finally pushed Taubes over the edge. \u201cLady novelists have always claimed the privilege of transcending mere plausibilities,\u201d he\u2019d written. Sontag herself would identify the body.<\/p>\n

The protagonist of Divorcing<\/em>, Sophie Blind, an academic and novelist, may or may not be alive. \u201cI died on a Tuesday afternoon, struck by a car as I was crossing Avenue George V,\u201d she tells us early in the novel. She is in Paris with her lover. Her charmless marriage to Ezra, a cruel and charismatic intellectual, awaits her in New York City. Her death seems less biological fact than act of imaginative liberation, the pulled escape hatch of a highly pressurized consciousness: \u201cMy body growing enormous, its thousands of trillions of cells suddenly set free, spread, speeded, pressed jubilant, rushing to the seven gates of Paris.\u201d As a narrator, she inhabits a kind of third space, quantum uncertainty, neither living nor dead, neither present nor past.<\/p>\n

The novel\u2019s first half is a study of the Blinds\u2019 failed marriage, a tilting relationship freighted with years of deception and three precocious children. Taubes has created an unctuous, carnal, brilliant, despicable foil in Ezra. (In his preface, David Rieff writes, \u201cFor those who remember him, or have read the many recollections that have been written about him, the portrait of Ezra is an uncannily accurate description of [Susan\u2019s husband] Jacob Taubes.\u201d) His pettiness and bullying are indexed with excruciating clarity:<\/p>\n

Ezra complained; Ezra was appalled by beads and clay and stuff and rags and paint, especially children painting on the wall\u2026 For a long time she refused to believe in Ezra\u2019s transformation. Was this Ezra talking through his nose like his father? He grew a belly, developed strange ailments, he screamed at the sight of a crack in the wall, anything spilling, a missing button; it had to be repaired immediately.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The familiarity of domestic turmoil gives way to Modernist phantasmagoria. Lyrical fragments of New York City life shade into fever dream set pieces: in one, a rabbinical courtroom drama is enacted in which Sophie begs for condemnation (her crimes include \u201ceating fried octopus, cock sucking, animal worship\u201d); in another, she meets with an LSD researcher who has only recently attended Sophie\u2019s funeral. \u201cEntelechy, my dear,\u201d she advises, \u201cthat\u2019s the ticket. The purposive universe. The burgeoning processive, dynamic continuum.\u201d<\/p>\n

This experimentalism relents in the novel\u2019s more straightforward second half, in which Sophie recounts the history of her Jewish family in midcentury Budapest. We learn that she fled with her father to America before the war, while her mother chose to remain behind with another man. (There are intimations here of the divorce she will repeat with Ezra.) Her eccentric family is rendered in pungent detail: Grandpa Ripper completing \u201ccomplicated calculations to prove how rich he would be now if he had invested his money differently\u201d; Aunt Rosa recalling how she\u2019d escaped the city during the war, \u201cleaping on a moving train in her nightgown.\u201d<\/p>\n

Though her mother later joins Sophie in America, a gulf has opened between them. The source of the wound reveals itself in oedipal flashes: \u201cYou were born and it was over\u2026 He fell in love with you, you know the story. He gave you all his love, he took from me the little words of endearment and gave them to you, my little fish, my canary.\u201d Her father, with whom she takes Sunday walks, is warm, self-mocking, often overbearing. His contradictory nature\u2014he is an atheist psychoanalyst active in the Jewish community\u2014appeals to Sophie\u2019s own sense of unfixedness. Like his daughter, he is baffled by the vacuous novelty of American life: \u201cHe really didn\u2019t know himself what was demanded of a woman in this new and changing world; what a woman should be, and his daughter in particular.\u201d<\/p>\n

Published in 1969, Divorcing <\/em>heralded the rise of the lean, epigrammatic fiction of the mid-\u201970s, such as Renata Adler\u2019s Speedboat<\/em> and Elizabeth Hardwick\u2019s Sleepless Nights<\/em>. The critic Katie Roiphe has referred to them as \u201cSmart Woman Adrift\u201d novels, works in which a youngish female figure \u201cfloats passively yet stylishly through the world.\u201d While the specifics of their execution differ\u2014Adler is funnier, for instance, and Hardwick more mandarin\u2014they share a set of aesthetic and tonal hallmarks. Each is impeccably controlled, wry, anxious, socially engaged, aphoristic, and alert to incongruity. There is everywhere a sense of imminent collapse, of doom that generates a specific interest in endings. Adler\u2019s narrator in Speedboat<\/em>, Jen Fain, offers a pithy summation of the desperate fleetness of this sort of fiction: \u201cthe momentum of last resort.\u201d<\/p>\n

Divorcing<\/em> anticipates the allure of this stylish disaffection. Sophie\u2019s cosmopolitanism, her coolness, her sexual appetite, her exhaustion, her intellectualism and indifferent glamor would become recognizable literary capacities, appealing features of a modern protagonist. Far from mere posturing, these sensibilities were governed by the shared disorientations of the postwar period. Their articulation required newer, more ambivalent forms. Smallness, idiosyncrasy, waste, dread, anecdote, illusion, none was an impediment to fictive or analytical richness. The fragment was in fact a much larger narrative unit than writer or reader might have suspected. It offered a kind of raid on appearances. What Hardwick said of Adler applies also to Taubes: her style is her meaning.<\/p>\n

But neither style nor meaning fully adhere. Divorcing<\/em> is caught between two forms, that of the bourgeois realist novel, rich with domestic incident and historical sweep, and the emergent fragmentary novel\u2019s network of apprehensions. Whenever the book leans into its traditionalism, the shards of Sophie\u2019s consciousness seem to push upward through narrative skin, unruly and eager to return. These invisible pressures contribute to the novel\u2019s perplexing in-betweenness. Is it a traditional form rent by some barely contained disorder, or an ambitious experiment contorting itself to the dimensions of familiarity?<\/p>\n

Incipience compels a unique audience. Divorcing<\/em> is the stuff of literary cults. It is vivid and inchoate, its surface slick from recent molting. It is fascinating and flawed, a gathering of antithetical forms, sheered edges, leaps of faith. It is tremendously anguished, a hair shirt in which beautiful forms have been woven. Its abrupt ending seems unfinished, as if Taubes were at last stymied, unsure how to stick the landing. But there is fascination here alongside much confusion. The novel seems to me both apprentice work and minor classic. That it has vanished for so long is remarkable. (Such things are mysterious; the founder and editor of NYRB Classics, Edwin Frank, has said that Divorcing<\/em> was recommended through an online suggestion box.) It is easy to feel gratitude for its return. As with Ingeborg Bachmann\u2019s Malina<\/em>, a thematic companion, its following stands to grow with time and word of mouth. Some works are merely reissued; this feels more like a resurrection.<\/p>\n

Dustin Illingworth is a writer in Southern California.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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