REVIEW #5: CHARLOTTE WOOD’S INTENSE WEEKEND

The Weekend
By Charlotte Wood
Narrated by Taylor Owynns
Allen and Unwin Wave Sound 2019

Charlotte Wood wants her readers to face the reality of their own bodies. Of vomiting. Of urinating. Of smelling. Of aching and aging. Of limitations. Of, in the final analysis, being just another vulnerable creature on the planet. Or, as Jude reflected, our lives were ‘all failure and collapse, all decay,’ lives as ‘pitiful’ as Wendy’s aging, cringing, incontinent, doddering old dog. These preoccupations with grotesque aging and morbidity, the storm and the uncovering of a terrible secret from the past seemed to almost slot Wood’s story into a modern gothic genre, though pigeonholing eras of music, food, architecture and lifestyles, and the preoccupation with appearances (especially of the aging) and what others think, are very much a reflection of modern society.

Through her omniscient narrator, we are able to enter into all the unspoken thoughts, and internal monologues that we all recognize as a truer representation of ourselves than the persona we project to the public. This unedited access into the hearts and minds of the characters enables us to know the characters better than they know themselves. Through the narrator, Wood conveys the message that we need to read fiction in order to know ourselves more truly. We are instantly reeling from the reality of her characterizations, recognizing ourselves and others, laughing self-consciously with cheeks blushing. Though they are stereotypes, they are all of us. Fiction, she is saying, is an investment in understanding ourselves, individually and corporately. And it is a warning that it is never too late to begin the process of dismantling the curated narratives of our lives and uncovering the truth about ourselves and our relationships.

All of Wood’s three aging women must confront the choices they have made and the state of their relationships with family members, friends and lovers. They must confront the impact of their work and the fragility of the house of cards they have built on the foundation of their long friendship. And we, the readers, must confront our own lack of self-knowledge, the way we delude ourselves, even in our old age, unwilling to face the reality of our circumstances, our true character, or our real relationships. One of the unfortunate aspects of the novel, in my view, was that all the men were cads. It seemed that none of them had any redeeming features. However, Woods did not spare the women, exposing their flaws and foolishness, but with a sympathy that was not extended to the men. My review may make the book sound terribly serious, but there is a great deal of humour in her portraits of these people.

One of the fascinating aspects of the novella was the fact that we become life-long friends with people who are so different from ourselves. What draws us together? What keeps us together? These are questions Wood’s readers will ask themselves. Are we our true selves with our friends? Does our friendship depend on hiding our true selves? On corroborating each other’s narratives? Or does it depend on our shared vulnerability and the need to be kind to each other because we know the frailties of our friends and are prepared to shield each other from their consequences as an act of reciprocal self-sacrificing love.

I loved the brilliant final scene and the hope and joy swirling through those waves, as Wood holds out the tantalizing lesson that we can all rise from each wave that threatens to swamp us, reinvigorated and ready to face the diurnal round without the need to concoct a fictional self. Wood’s book certainly reinforces the irony that fiction helps us to discover our true selves and gives us the courage to live that out.