The Virgin Suicides
Jeffrey Eugenides
I'm quite liking these books that get better and better as you let them simmer for a while in your mind acquiring new meanings and gaining significance. They often have abrupt or otherwise shocking endings that draw you in as you are slowly escaping from the narrative world. The ending of The Virgin Suicides is far from shocking; you know from the title, let alone the first page, exactly what the book is about, but the book itself still manages to surprise and enchant. That a book whose plot is clearly exposed from the outset can enchant so deeply is a testament to Eugenides's great talents as a writer. The book is a meditation on memory rather than the exposition of its events. Narrated spectacularly from the first-person plural, no small feat considering that this strange narrative voice is consistent and only tired in a few long stretches, The Virgin Suicides is the story of the collective memory that creates a society, that knits people together and keeps them connected through time. The book's final allusions to Detroit's spectacular decline are an obvious echo of the suicides that link together the neighborhood boys who are painfully forced to take part in them from afar.
The reader has to be careful to enter this book with few expectations. I, for one, expected a gripping play-by-play account of each girl's turn towards suicide, which is definitely not what the book is about. The plot moves at a lolling pace, somewhat out of time and always with an eye towards the results, which endure to the present day. This was initially disappointing but becomes increasingly relevant the more one thinks about the book's construction and themes. The little details that create the suburban neighborhood and that flesh out members of the collective narration are subtle pieces of childhood that invoke a certain nostalgia particular to Christmas and Halloween movies. Amongst the neighborhood boys we have the jock, the brain, the rich kid, and all of the normal boys who admire them; unlike most modern coming-of-age fare, they all must band together to form a collective subconscious and try to piece together the full meaning of the tragedies of their childhood.
It goes without saying that the sentimental overtones of The Virgin Suicides only heighten the power of the novel. If Eugenides waxes poetic now and then, or becomes overly nostalgic, it is only in the guise of modern-day adults who create the cliches in the first place. Eugenides isn't repeating the cliches but subtly pointing to the reasons they exist and their power despite their popularity. The slice of life shades of suburbia combine with the torture of eternal guilt and the sad necessity of watching someone slowly waste away. The collective attitude of the men seems realistic and appropriate despite the fact that they so blatantly contradict the general trend of society to make its men strong and burly. These men have been tormented since early high school with a special knowledge and an intimate connection to a type of tragedy particular to their supposedly sheltered surroundings. The normal blends with the completely alien and forms a fully believable picture. Even the eccentricities that help create the suicides can seem like reasonable, if not rational, reactions to straining events.
The book, simply put, flows. It feels as though we are in the room with these men, as though being their wives, brothers, or other confidants we are hearing their story directly. Far from being contrived, the narrative voice is fresh and makes the story resonate in a way that first person narration couldn't. Eugenides probes suburban tragedy and the greater decline of America with a deft pen and graceful, moving flourishes. The book is a tragedy but is still compelling and still calls to be re-read for full appreciation of its literary riches. Elegiac and poignant, The Virgin Suicides is quite the antidote to the feel-good coming-of-age story, a slice of harsh sunlight in our own shaded suburban sub-reality.
Grade: A
Jeffrey Eugenides
I'm quite liking these books that get better and better as you let them simmer for a while in your mind acquiring new meanings and gaining significance. They often have abrupt or otherwise shocking endings that draw you in as you are slowly escaping from the narrative world. The ending of The Virgin Suicides is far from shocking; you know from the title, let alone the first page, exactly what the book is about, but the book itself still manages to surprise and enchant. That a book whose plot is clearly exposed from the outset can enchant so deeply is a testament to Eugenides's great talents as a writer. The book is a meditation on memory rather than the exposition of its events. Narrated spectacularly from the first-person plural, no small feat considering that this strange narrative voice is consistent and only tired in a few long stretches, The Virgin Suicides is the story of the collective memory that creates a society, that knits people together and keeps them connected through time. The book's final allusions to Detroit's spectacular decline are an obvious echo of the suicides that link together the neighborhood boys who are painfully forced to take part in them from afar.
The reader has to be careful to enter this book with few expectations. I, for one, expected a gripping play-by-play account of each girl's turn towards suicide, which is definitely not what the book is about. The plot moves at a lolling pace, somewhat out of time and always with an eye towards the results, which endure to the present day. This was initially disappointing but becomes increasingly relevant the more one thinks about the book's construction and themes. The little details that create the suburban neighborhood and that flesh out members of the collective narration are subtle pieces of childhood that invoke a certain nostalgia particular to Christmas and Halloween movies. Amongst the neighborhood boys we have the jock, the brain, the rich kid, and all of the normal boys who admire them; unlike most modern coming-of-age fare, they all must band together to form a collective subconscious and try to piece together the full meaning of the tragedies of their childhood.
It goes without saying that the sentimental overtones of The Virgin Suicides only heighten the power of the novel. If Eugenides waxes poetic now and then, or becomes overly nostalgic, it is only in the guise of modern-day adults who create the cliches in the first place. Eugenides isn't repeating the cliches but subtly pointing to the reasons they exist and their power despite their popularity. The slice of life shades of suburbia combine with the torture of eternal guilt and the sad necessity of watching someone slowly waste away. The collective attitude of the men seems realistic and appropriate despite the fact that they so blatantly contradict the general trend of society to make its men strong and burly. These men have been tormented since early high school with a special knowledge and an intimate connection to a type of tragedy particular to their supposedly sheltered surroundings. The normal blends with the completely alien and forms a fully believable picture. Even the eccentricities that help create the suicides can seem like reasonable, if not rational, reactions to straining events.
The book, simply put, flows. It feels as though we are in the room with these men, as though being their wives, brothers, or other confidants we are hearing their story directly. Far from being contrived, the narrative voice is fresh and makes the story resonate in a way that first person narration couldn't. Eugenides probes suburban tragedy and the greater decline of America with a deft pen and graceful, moving flourishes. The book is a tragedy but is still compelling and still calls to be re-read for full appreciation of its literary riches. Elegiac and poignant, The Virgin Suicides is quite the antidote to the feel-good coming-of-age story, a slice of harsh sunlight in our own shaded suburban sub-reality.
Grade: A
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