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2007 Book Reviews

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Summer Reading by Hilda Wolitzer

Rating:

**

 

(Mildly Recommended)

 

 

 

Click on title or picture to buy from amazon.com

 

 

 

Shallow

 

The action in Hilma Wolitzer’s latest novel, Summer Reading, takes place in the Hamptons with a summer reading group. A half dozen women could turn into interesting characters, but sympathy for them never develops. Two narrators alternate chapters, providing some change of pace. Here’s an excerpt, from the beginning of Chapter 3, “Them,” pp. 19-21:

 

Every year they came down Montauk Highway in a slow car­avan of SUVs and Jeeps and Land Rovers, like an army of tanks about to occupy an enemy village. They called them­selves the summer people—proudly, Michelle Cutty noted, as if they owned the season as well as all that beachfront. She had first heard, or overheard, the term at a party she was working in Water Mill. “We summer people bankroll the whole shebang,” a woman in a huge picture hat said as she helped herself to one of the bluepoints Michelle was serving from a bed of washed pebbles, “and they just love to hate us.”

“Them” was what they were called behind their backs by the bonackers, especially when a matter of service was in­volved. “I’m catering for them again on Hither Lane on Saturday.” Or “I’m clearing out an acre for them next week; want to pick up a couple hours?” It was similar to the way Michelle and her girl­friends used to refer to one of their mothers as “her” when they were teenagers and still in the stranglehold of supervision.

Her mother, Jo Ann, had gotten her this new job through one of her own regulars in Sagaponack. Michelle had filled in there on occa­sion, and had obviously passed muster. It would have been hard not to, under Jo Ann’s direction. She was about one rung above a slave herself, and she expected everybody else to kiss up and knuckle under, too. Michelle wasn’t allowed to take a break, hide somewhere for a quick smoke, or even lapse into a daydream. “They don’t pay you good money just to stand around posing,” Jo Ann would remind her.

Now here she was on her own, at another house where the occu­pants couldn’t take a dump for themselves. But the money really was good: thirty bucks an hour, and all the hours she could spare. It sure beat clerking at Kmart for peanuts or—except for the company— doing small-animal care at the county shelter. This was her third day in a row.

As soon as she’d come in that morning, she made the sandwiches and the tea for some club meeting. Jo Ann had taught her how to do little sandwiches for them—rolled and sliced into pinwheels, or using cookie cutters shaped like diamonds and hearts. No crusts, of course, smears of this and that from gourmet shop plastic containers, sprigs of fresh herbs, and all of it arranged in a tiered, starburst pattern.

After she’d made the bed and vacuumed and straightened the bathrooms, Michelle had walked around with a big yellow sponge in her hand, looking for something else to do, another surface from which she could erase any visible signs of life. But the place was as spotless as a model home. She found herself looking up again and again at the kitchen clock, willing the hands to move.

Michelle’s brother, Eddie, and her boyfriend, Hank, were making extra money off some of them, too, most of it in cold cash and off the books, for odd jobs like putting up deer fencing or cleaning out rain gutters. The two men also ran a small party boat, the Kayla Joy— named for Hank’s fourteen-year-old daughter—on weekends. Six to a fishing party and ninety bucks a head for four hours (double that for eight), and their passengers all went home happy, with bad sunburns and a couple of fillets they could have picked up at Citarella for a lot less.

Once upon a time, before the invasion of the summer people, it had been primarily a fishing and farming community. There were still some commercial boats going out each morning for blues and striped bass, and enough fields of corn and cauliflower to keep the farm stands going.

But there were more party boats now—most of them bigger than the Kayla Joy—and more nurseries, growing white pines for privacy, and hibiscus for decorative gardens. A fifty-year-old hardware store had been replaced by a jewelry store called Bling! and a diner once fa­vored by the fishermen, who used to get breakfast there at 4 AM before setting out, now sold souvenirs. Why did they need T-shirts and golf caps to remind them where they were?

Michelle was positive that Lissy Snyder had forgotten her name and felt too embarrassed now to ask her to repeat it. That’s why she kept saying “Hi!” in her chirpy chipmunk voice and wore that goofy smile whenever they ran into each other in the house. Michelle could almost hear the wheels turning in that dopey blond head. Marie? Mar­garet? She was thinking of writing her name in lipstick or soap across the fun-house mirror in Lissy’s dressing room, the one that made Michelle look as bad as she had in her yearbook photo before it was touched up.

 

Summer Reading is shallow and light, and that might be perfect for summer reading. If you’re able to develop any care at all about what happens to these characters, you’re likely to enjoy Summer Reading. If you don’t find that in the first thirty pages, read something else.

 

Steve Hopkins, November 20, 2007

 

 

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The recommendation rating for this book appeared

 in the December 2007 issue of Executive Times

 

URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/Summer Reading.htm

 

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