{"id":161597,"date":"2022-09-15T13:16:07","date_gmt":"2022-09-15T17:16:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=161597"},"modified":"2022-09-15T13:19:18","modified_gmt":"2022-09-15T17:19:18","slug":"the-entangled-life-on-nancy-lemann","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2022\/09\/15\/the-entangled-life-on-nancy-lemann\/","title":{"rendered":"The Entangled Life: On Nancy Lemann"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Photograph by Sophie Haigney.<\/p><\/div>\n

In our new Fall issue, no. 241, we published Nancy Lemann\u2019s \u201cDiary of Remorse<\/a>.\u201d To mark the occasion, we asked writers to reflect on Lemann\u2019s remarkable literary career.<\/em><\/p>\n

I picked up Nancy Lemann\u2019s <\/span>Lives of the Saints <\/span><\/i>from a sidewalk pile in Greenpoint in October 2020, just a few minutes before it started raining in sheets. I read the novel in one sitting when I got home. The next day, I lent it to a friend with whom I was crashing for a few weeks. She returned it twenty-two months later, at the beach. Before we even left Fort Tilden I found myself lending it out to another friend. I\u2019m not very generous with books, to be honest, but for some reason, this novel, like an early-aughts chain email, demands to be forwarded. It is a short book, which makes it a good loan to a friend, because you can jointly anticipate a sense of accomplishment. And it may then become a field guide<\/span> to certain shared experiences of Youth\u2014allowing you both to observe, for instance, on a summer night when everyone around you is having Breakdowns, that this is exactly like <\/span>Lives of the Saints<\/span><\/i>.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Why had I read it in one afternoon, though? I remembered feeling warm, somehow, like I\u2019d been drinking hot chocolate; that was something I also hoped to pass on to my friends. But I\u2019d forgotten precisely how the sensation arose out of the book\u2019s setting: decadent, upper-crust New Orleans, where desultory people young and old drink heroic quantities of gin, embark on doomed marriages and affairs, and generally go to seed. As I revisited my (second) copy of <\/span>Lives of the Saints<\/span><\/i>, I realized what appealed to me so much, then and now, was the portrait of the thick, interdependent, entangled community within which these eccentrics thrive. The virtues and morals of this Southern hothouse are as lucid as those of Jane Austen\u2019s or George Eliot\u2019s provincial outposts. We learn that Claude, the narrator\u2019s clumsy love interest, is not only \u201ckind\u201d and \u201chonorable\u201d but also likes people more the longer he has known them. (Thus, reasons the narrator, she will always have an \u201cedge\u201d on his affections.) Would that we had such a firm theory of every character in our own lives\u2014and their extended families, too! The narrator also knows that Claude\u2019s father has been eating a dozen oysters “at noon in The Pearl” every day for four decades\u2014and that Claude’s great-great-grandfather came to Louisiana from Germany in 1836. The verb tenses that scaffold this fictional world indicate reliable recurrences of a dim, shared past in a nostalgia-soaked present: one aging grandee \u201calways quotes from\u201d a dreaded verse history of the Civil War, and a senescent debutante trots out \u201cthe story of the Countless Offers.\u201d And then there\u2019s the bracingly intimate \u201cwe,\u201d as in: \u201cWe used to hear Henry Laines scream at his girl friends \u2026 in the apartment across the garden at night from his house.\u201d And so do <\/span>we<\/span><\/i>,<\/span> for the hours we spend in this book.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The aimless narrator\u2019s return to New Orleans after her four years at a northeastern college is a clever device with which to reconstruct this milieu for us outsiders. It is not a world you long to join or one whose passing you lament\u2014a world where Black people serve white \u201cwastrel youth,\u201d where parties are staged unselfconsciously at plantations, where a typical setting of a scene includes \u201ceveryone screaming for the black maids, with vivid colors of black maids in white uniforms on the velvet green lawn.\u201d These characters inhabit less a stratum than a caste\u2014one that you can\u2019t help but feel deserved the same ultimate Breakdown as most of its members. But to thread the needle so deftly on such people is the supreme achievement of the novel\u2019s voice: deadpan, hilarious, histrionic, anthropological, fatalistic. Some of the narrator’s lines have rattled around my head for the past two years, like: \u201cI could only love one person. This was my innate principle.\u201d She does not write this off\u2014unlike other sentiments of her youth\u2014with her backward glance, and that seemed, and seems, important to me. Many of us cling to similar credos that can appear, especially in what the narrator might call the cold Yankee North, like relics of a bygone era, but maybe we don\u2019t have to let them go. At least, that\u2019s how I felt rereading this novel, as I once again underlined words I had long ago committed to memory: \u201cI cannot just transfer my affections, for they are carved in stone.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Krithika Varagur\u00a0is the author of\u00a0<\/em>The Call: Inside the Global Saudi Religious Project\u00a0and an editor of\u00a0<\/em>The Drift.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cFor some reason, this novel, like an early-aughts chain email, demands to be forwarded.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2282,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[68317],"tags":[23436,19397,67827,68531,34787,2541,23424,9909],"class_list":["post-161597","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-rereading","tag-affection","tag-decay","tag-featured","tag-lives-of-the-saints","tag-nancy-lemann","tag-new-orleans","tag-southern-life","tag-youth"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe Entangled Life: On Nancy Lemann by Krithika Varagur<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"September 15, 2022 \u2013 \u201cFor some reason, this novel, like an early-aughts chain email, demands to be forwarded.\u201d\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, 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