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Executive Times |
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2008 Book Reviews |
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The 19th
Wife by David Ebershoff |
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Rating: |
*** |
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(Recommended) |
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Click
on title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
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Plural Could
David Ebershoff have packed anything else into his latest novel, The 19th
Wife? In a masterful way, Ebershoff weaves together a modern tale of
polygamy with the historical account of Ann Eliza Young, the 19th
wife of Brigham Young. In the modern tale, the gay son who was outcast from
his family returns to this rural community after his mother is arrested for
the murder of his polygamous father. Ebershoff fictionalizes Ann Eliza’s
story and retains her tenacity in bringing an end to plural marriage. Here’s
an excerpt, pp. 21-23: “On the Prophet’s life, I did
not kill your father.” It’s a little weird to admit
but I was disappointed by her denial. And I didn’t believe her, not
for a second. “Then who did?” “I don’t know. One of the
wives. But it wasn’t me.” “What’d your lawyer say?” “I don’t think he believes me.
He said he had to review a lot of evidence before he could come up with a
strategy. I told him, I didn’t do it, that's your strategy. I keep telling
myself this isn't happening." She said that again: "This isn't
happening." She dropped her forehead into her hand to bolster herself,
then looked up. "Oh Jordan, isn't it wonderful, you being here, coming
here like this." "I guess." "It's a miracle." "Mom." "I prayed to our Heavenly
Father to bring you to me and he did." Here we go again. "I
seriously doubt that." "Jordan, don't you see?
There was a reason he made me send you away. So you could come back to help
me when I needed you. We couldn't know it at the time, but now I understand.
Look: there you were in California leading I'm sure a real busy life, and
you happen to read about me on the, on the, is it the web or is it the net,
because I've heard people call it both?" "The web. The net. It
doesn't matter." "OK, the web. And something
told you to come help me. Don't you see: if you were still in Mesadale
you wouldn't be able to help me. It was God's plan all along. If that isn't
proof, then I don't know what is." "I'm not even going to
respond to that." "Then tell me: why were
you looking up the local paper on that day of all days?" "I don't know, every once
in a while I read it online, just to see what's going on out here, but every
time I do I get depressed." "See!" She pressed
her fingers against the glass, the tips going flat and white. "God told
you to read the web yesterday. If it hadn't been for God-" "Jesus, Mom, cut the God
crap. That's not why I was online, I. spend like half my life online. When
are you going to be free of all of this shit?" "Jordan, don't speak
to me like that." "Mom,
I'm sorry, I just don't believe any of that." My throat was clamping up.
"Not anymore." I set down the receiver and wiped my eyes.
Goddammit, I wasn't supposed to crack up. That night, years ago, when the
trucker dropped me off, I promised myself I would never cry again over any of
it. And I didn't, not once, until now. Now my eyes were wet and there weren't
any tissues in here, there wasn't anything in this place, just a red plastic
stool and a yellow plastic phone and a wall of glass and a dozen crying
babies. Fuck me. "I should be going." "Jordan, no. I need your
help." I took a second to think about
what that might mean. "I'll see if I can make an appointment with your
lawyer." Then I hung up. Through the glass I saw her mouth, One more
thing. I picked up the receiver. "Yeah?" "I'm very sorry for doing
that. I didn't have a choice. I only hope you can understand that now." "You don't need to say
anything else." "You need to know it's the
only reason I would've done that to you." "Mom, look, fine. It was
a long time ago." "I like to think you could
hear my prayers. I guess you don't like talking about things like that
anymore, but it's true. The only way I could sleep at night was knowing you
could hear me pray for you." Her mouth darkened and puckered and she set
down the receiver to cry. The officer behind her offered a packet of tissues.
I could see my mom say thanks and Officer Kane say no problem, you take your
time. She was on the heavy side, her uniform tight on her thighs, and was
about as threatening as the senior citizen who greets you at Wal-Mart. My mom picked up the phone
again. "You'll help me, right? I know you'll help me." I
told her I'd see what I could do. She nodded. Then we hung up. For a while I
didn't move and she didn't move, except for her hands, they trembled on the
counter. Then they settled down, lying there small and white behind the
glass, like a tiny pair of unclaimed gloves. Ebershoff’s writing is fine
throughout The 19th
Wife. I was engrossed in both the old and the modern stories, and came
away from this book with a heightened appreciation for the power of belief. Steve
Hopkins, October 20, 2008 |
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Go to Executive Times Archives |
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The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the November 2008 issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/The 19th Wife.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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