I took a little time out from the myths after following the
strange ‘controversy’ (I call it that loosely; the media made a deal out of it
but I don’t see it as warranted) caused by Messud’s angry (ish) outburst in response
to the following question, raised in a Publisher’s Weekly Q&A:
“Q: I wouldn’t want to be friends with Nora, would you? Her
outlook is almost unbearably grim
A: For heaven’s sake, what kind of question is that? Would
you want to be friends with Humbert Humbert? Would you want to be friends with
Mickey Sabbath? Saleem Sinai? Hamlet? Krapp? Oedipus? Oscar Wao? Antigone?
Raskolnikov? Any of the characters in The Corrections? Any of the
characters in Infinite Jest? Any of the characters in anything Pynchon
has ever written? Or Martin Amis? Or Orhan Pamuk? Or Alice Munro, for that
matter? If you’re reading to find friends, you’re in deep trouble. We read to
find life, in all its possibilities. The relevant question isn’t “is this a
potential friend for me?” but “is this character alive?”...”
You can read the full interview here:
Claire Messud Publishers' Weekly
And the whole thing strikes me as funny, because Messud has
a valid point and it feeds into the concept that women, on the whole, have to
be likeable whereas men are permitted to be flawed, which makes them
interesting, which is something that Sheryl Sandberg covers in her book ‘Lean
In’ with the research to back it up, but somehow her ‘angry’ response prompted
a temporary flood of high emotion about gendered questioning and whether her response,
in itself, was proportionate. In any event it interested me enough to buy the
book, so if nothing else it was great publicity.
Serendipity. On a number of levels that’s what this book has
meant to me. Firstly because the very controversy-that-wasn’t-really fed itself
into a thread of thinking I’ve been thinking, about women and their battle
against perception, which is part of what my whole reading books by women
mission has all been about. Also because of how it mirrors something of the
theme of ‘Lean In’ by Sandberg which I’ll review more completely once I’ve
ceased sharing it with every working women who stands still long enough. Also
because Messud’s response was angry, and anger is an emotion which is viewed
unfavourably in women which, serendipitously, is exactly what the novel is
about.
Nora Eldridge is Messud’s protagonist. She is single, in her
early forties, ordinary, a diligent school teacher, devoted daughter,
considerate friend, artist wannabe and an angry woman. The anger is the first
thing we learn about Nora; her anger is deep, visceral, barely contained. She
is the first bubblings of a super-volcano. Outwardly she continues to be calm,
helpful, kind, considerate, invisible Nora – the ‘Woman Upstairs’ – as she
consistently refers to herself. Inwardly she is seething. She wants to stick
two fingers up at the world and everything in it, the world in which she sees
herself as having failed, missed her opportunity.
Nora’s story, the unravelling of it, begins with a new boy
in class, Reza Shahid. Recalling having seen him a few days earlier, Nora is
quickly entranced by the charming new child in class. An unexpected incident of bullying prompts a
meeting between Nora and Reza’s mother, Sirena, and this is when Nora’s
identity begins to unravel. Sirena is an Italian artist married to a Lebanese
academic, in the US for a year whilst her husband is working at the university.
She is also warm, vibrant and charming. Unexpectedly Nora opens up to her and,
almost too quickly, they agree to rent a studio together. Sirena wants to work
on her installation, Wonderland, a work which she hopes to propel her into the
big leagues whilst Nora sees this as an opportunity to re-invoke her own
artistic yearnings, tiny dioramas representing the lives of famous, but tragic,
female artists.
What follows is a three way love affair, or rather a
situation in which Nora falls in love with the three Shahids and they, to all
appearances, fall in love with her. Or do they? In this novel we hear only Nora’s
story, perceive only Nora’s perceptions. It is clear that Nora fell in love
with the family, all of the family, in various ways. It is clear that her
involvement with them changed her. That Nora becomes a part of the Shahid’s
life seems certain, her involvement in the construction of Sirena’s Wonderland,
her nights babysitting Reza, her intimate walks and talks with Skandar are
facts on which Nora can be certain. But did they mean anything? That is a
question which Nora asks herself, and in the end finds an answer which isn’t to
her liking.
It is a core theme of the novel: the question of what is
real and what is fantasy. This is echoed in the differing works of the artists –
Nora creates exact but tiny models of real-life rooms and lives, whereas Sirena
creates an imaginative masterpiece themed on Alice in Wonderland, in itself a
story which tangles the real and unreal. Where Sirena creates, larger than
life, Nora replicates or assists in bringing to life Sirena’s vision. And she
is happy, joy-filled, in this role, fulfilled in her secondary position until
she realises that this is what she is. Until the Shahid’s move on, leaving her
behind.
I found The Woman Upstairs a discomforting read on so many
levels. In some respects I could see Nora in me, I’m sure many women do,
putting the needs of others first and putting our own hopes and dream on hold.
Fulfilling others, but also being bound by fear. Fear of trying and failing.
Better to help others succeed. There are also many questions about what it real
and what is only a playing out of Nora’s fantasy, how much of the ‘events’
happened in her head and not for real, but also a question about why they didn’t
happen for real. Better to fantasise than risk rejection or failure. As a
consequence Nora doesn’t allow herself to really live her life, she lives in a
fantasy, in Wonderland, and like all fantasies they are only as alive as the person
who creates them. Where Sirena is able to bring body and soul to her ‘Wonderland’,
Nora’s relies upon the three people around her to create it. And when they are
gone, it all falls apart.
I also couldn’t help feeling that Nora was used by the
Shahids, that they played on her loneliness and willingness to become part of
their lives knowing that eventually they would be leaving. Or perhaps not, perhaps
they simply didn’t see her in the way she saw them. But that is the point of
the Woman Upstairs: she’s invisible.
There’s a lot packed in to this short (ish) novel and a lot
of intricate emotions. This is a complex novel, tightly written and intriguing
and in the end, I think, highly successful. Nora may or may not be likeable,
but in answer to Messud’s challenge, “is this character alive?”, I would say
most definitely yes. Alive yes, but not living.
That I’ve written this much (and could go on) is a testament
to how successful a novel Messud has created in The Woman Upstairs. It is a
difficult but rewarding read and a reminder to us all that living bravely means
living with risk but also reward.
The Woman Upstairs receives a livid (and impressed) 9 out of
10 Biis.
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