Book 10: Landline

Landline

Rainbow Rowell

I waffled a bit on whether I wanted to read this book, but as my recent experiences with sci-fi-tinged literary fiction have been largely positive, I decided to give it a go. In the end, I'm glad I did, though I can't quite articulate what it is about Landline that has stuck with me. I was initially drawn to the novel for its somewhat science fictional premise- the plot hinges on a woman's ability to communicate with her husband in the past just as their relationship passes what may be its final fraying point in the present- and was rewarded with a reading experience that capitalizes on the best of both literary fiction's inward-looking sensibilities and science fiction's preoccupation with what ifs. Rowell plays this plot twist 100% straight, and the book is better for it. Rather than wringing her hands trying to create an explanation for the wormhole, convoluted or not, she invites her protagonist, Georgie, to consider the various possibilities (temporary or permanent insanity is prominent among them) for herself. In doing so, she gives voice to the reader's potential doubts and gently coerces them to accept it as inexplicable in the same way that Georgie must. Moreover, Rowell reconciles the alternate/actual timeline pitfalls that always accompany time-travel fiction in the simplest way possible, reconciling past and present in the way that makes the most sense and avoiding any convoluted digressions that would detract from the story's captivating emotional core. The resolution may not surprise seasoned time travel fans, but it works seamlessly, which is all you can ask of such a plot device.

Rowell's deft handling of its science fictional elements ensures that the novel neither apologizes for its sci-fi flavor nor becomes bogged down by it, that the plot remains firmly rooted in reality, and that the book's emotional consequences resonate with remarkable depth. The plot moves seamlessly between the present and the history of Georgie's relationship with her possibly estranged husband Neal, revealing details at a good pace and tightening the tension at all the right moments. The book convincingly presents the entirety of the relationship even as it focuses on its two most pivotal points, and the outcome, while never really in doubt, is neither unreasonable nor trite. Though I did question the completeness of some of Georgie's soul-searching- it seems to me that the book focuses too narrowly on her contributions to the sorry state of things rather than Neal's obvious and ongoing faults- I did leave the novel thoroughly convinced that this character would have taken these actions in this situation. Nonetheless, the ending is pleasantly ambiguous despite having a certain air of ambivalence about it; ultimately, as in life, there are no clear-cut answers to the book's central problems.

Aside from the excellent handling of Georgie's "magic telephone," I can't quite put my finger on why I liked this book so much. I quite liked the hilarious, unapologetically ambitious Georgie, but I didn't agree with her assessment of her situation or, indeed, her husband. But maybe that's what I appreciate about the book: despite its relatively straightforward course, I sensed rich layers of surprising complexity beneath the surface. Though Rowell doesn't take pains to draw readers' attention to them, the novel's psychological nuances await discovery. In the end, it simply isn't clear to either character or reader what the best outcome is, or whether happily ever after can even be achieved in the situation. Instead, the book settles on the kind of compromise that echoes those we must make in the real world every day, and does so in a way that prioritizes humor and wit rather than the meaningless platitudes or endless existential gnashing of teeth that often makes serious doomed-relationship fiction so overwrought and unpleasant. Landline is, in this sense, refreshingly self-aware without falling into the trap of being too self-referential or too clever for its own good.

Amidst all of the seriousness and uncertainty that characterize the book's central plot lies a consistently humorous, and pleasantly human, core. Rowell deploys joking parenthetical asides with the necessary restraint to make them effective, and it doesn't hurt that she can fall back on light, but warranted, satire of the sitcom industry when the book requires a pick-me-up. Her nods to diversity avoid self-congratulatory pretense, and one minor plot twist involves one of the best uses of a gay character that I have seen in non-LGBT fiction. Rather than announcing everything upfront, Rowell wisely allows her characters and readers to make the obvious assumption, only to turn it hilariously and convincingly on its head. In doing so, she accurately conveys the kind of gradual realization that occurs so often in the lives of real gay people (and those around them) without applying any of the condescension that often comes along with the Token Gay Character and without the subtle homophobic nuance that usually accompanies this kind of reveal.

The treatment of this minor subplot is, like many of the book's seemingly inconsequential details, yet another example of Rowell's talent for conveying the world as it is- and all of this in a novel that would be impossible without a nifty bit of time travel! All of this in a novel that cannot possibly reach a conclusion that is satisfactory to all of its involved parties or all of its readers. All of this in a book that I wasn't sure I liked but couldn't bring myself to put down. In the end I find the book utterly confounding, and I am left to conclude that this is because it is, somehow, brilliant and subtly nuanced in a way I cannot articulate. Landline is thoroughly and unapologetically realistic despite the certain blip in the space-time continuum and represents literary and science fiction at their best, introspectively stretching the human experience just beyond reality's usual (or expected) limits in a way that allows us to learn something about ourselves.

Grade: A