Have the Men Had Enough? By Margaret Forster.

Margaret Forster

Initially, as I began reading this novel, I felt overwhelmed by the spectrum of the central characters, during the first few pages.  Still, I soon came to realize the rightness of this approach.

Beginning with a candid description of a weekly Sunday lunch, quite elaborate, prepared by one daughter-in-law of the pivotal figure, Grandma.  At no point is this elderly lady, fast approaching the final stage of senile dementia, referred to or addressed in any other way.  

The details of her gastronomical habits are depicted with gritty grotesqueness. This proves vital in that the reaction of each family member to what, stretching political correctness to its outermost boundary, might be dubbed “eccentricities.  These members range from her grown children and spouses, to her nearly grown grandchildren.  While each of them cherishes her in their way, their level of aggravation depends on the degree of care asked of them.

To some extent, Ms. Forster deploys Grandma’s tendency, brought about by her dementia, as a tool to voice the social commentary at the core of this book.  By way of example, before she can agree to accept so much as a potato at lunch, Grandma must repeatedly ask “Have the men had enough?” Inferentially, women could only eat after the men have gorged themselves on a meal prepared by the women.  

Arguably, during an era when men were obliged to do exhausting farming or mining work, their need for sufficient food had to be preeminent.  Thus, as a symptom of senile dementia involves retention of long-term memories, Grandma’s deepest recollections center upon the men’s satisfaction, full-bellied and gratified.  She is not aware of the fact that the level of labor for men has become largely sedentary, and limited to eight hours on week-days. 

Conversely, care of an elderly woman who can no longer deal with her most basic needs is viewed by them as “women’s work.”
Of course they are only joking, just being playful.  What sort of modern woman could interpret such comments as anything more? Still, when a crisis occurs, it is these female good sports who are expected to clean up the consequent mess, on whatever level.

As months pass, and grandma’s awareness dwindles to lack of consciousness of her surroundings, the women become more enmeshed, while the men withdraw further.  All too soon, these women learn the most expedient way to extricate Grandma and themselves from an awkward  scenario is to “remind” her the men will be coming in for their lunches or dinners, and are likely to become cross if she does not have their meal prepared  to perfection.  

The Overall story is told from the perspectives of two women, related to Grandma in various ways.  The reader is invited to join them in trying to gauge to what degree, if any, Grandma makes use of her dementia as a means of maneuvering in order to gain extra care and companionship.  In all probability, Grandma herself does not know the genuine answer.  

A deep sense of sadness pervades this book, much of it voiced by Hannah, a seventeen-year old student, compelled, far too early, to weigh her ideals against realities.  What will she do if her mother, so wise and strong, one day becomes like Grandma?  In addition, although she does not address it directly, Hannah, even at her young age, knows she is not immortal. 

She has no choice but to see the ghastly nature of growing old in a society where there is no bulwark between the loneliness of longevity and the societal inability to do more than sedate, confine to a hospital bed, and then decide, if pneumonia sets in, whether to provide antibiotics, or “let nature take its course.” 

In the ultimate sense, the question becomes not only what is best for the patient, but for the family as a whole, when nothing but further deterioration can be expected from a person experiencing senile dementia.  

Seductive Poison by Deborah Layton

 

Deborah Layton

Full title: Seductive Poison: A Jonestown Survivor's Story of Life and Death in the People's Temple.

Boundaries between extreme religious or political fundamentalism and cults can prove hard to discern.  Still, cults are characterized by isolation from family and friends, demands for absolute adherence to the beliefs of one leader, and eventually the threat,  subtle but omnipresent, of the danger of any attempts to depart. 

Sadly, especially for those still young enough to be filled by ideals, implementing and tightening of these shackles can be far too insidious to be recognized, until their force have become overpowering.  By the time this is understood, what at first appeared to be a gossamer strand of welcome has shown itself to be iron chains of restraint.

Each experience is individual, and every cult unique in its way. Still, the detailed candor of Ms. Layton’s memoir is especially vivid.  By the time she began to suspect its fraudulence, she had become indoctrinated, almost to the edge of automatism.  For these reasons, this book can serve as a road-map, exhibiting warning signs to those tempted by any similar avenue.  

Like many cult leaders, despite his seeming logic and eloquence, Jim Jones preached a hodgepodge of flimsy philosophies, choosing whatever aspects of Marxism and Christianity served his goal as being perceived as the penultimate oracle. 

Deborah Layton, born in 1953, reached her mid-teens during the late 1960s, an era when a cornucopia of gurus of various kinds were abundant.  The ethos of the time encouraged openness and exploration.  Often, chemical and spiritual  avenues were combined in a melange which, if scrutinized, simply meant relinquishing freedom of thought and will to an autocrat.  

(As a member of a different cult stated, while being urged to think for one’s self, the leaders demanded a type of mind control which left no space for even the slightest vestige of genuine self-analysis.)  
Initially, Ms. Layton attended Jim Jones’ meetings by way of experiment, hoping to add to her spectrum of ideas via gleaning the benefits of his renowned intensive reading and understanding.  
Who then was this monumental Jim Jones?  The ways by which he accomplished his preeminence are not relevant here.  They are complex and lengthy, and can be found in any number of books, as well as on websites.  As this book review centers upon the recollections of Ms. Deborah Layton, our discussion will touch upon only the basic facts regarding Jim Jones rise to a Messiah-like status.

James Warren Jones was Born on May 13 1931, in Indiana.  He married nurse Marceline Baldwin in 1949.  His good looks, combined with a comforting, nearly mesmeric voice and demeanor, allowed him to convince some of those on the highest levels of political echelons of his worthiness to continue his “ministry” in various parts of America.  Beginning in Indiana, he traveled to the most cutting edge areas of the already radical centers of California, where his beliefs became yet one more route for those thirsting for an authority figure outside their parental strictures.

Jim Jones died, on November 18 1978, along with his wife, children and those followers who felt too committed or intimidated to leave his by then well-established Jonestown in British Guyana.

Returning to Deborah Layton’s memoir;  after a few private conversations, Jones began imploring her to help him reach others in need of his healing abilities.  He stated that while his community would succeed without her impetus, it would evolve in a far slower, less focused way.  Would she allow that to happen?  By then, her choice had nearly crystallized.  Her belief in Jones’ teachings was such as to allow her to accept his blandishments as realities. Like many in their late teens and early twenties, Ms. Layton’s ego was eager to sponge up a sense of being crucial to the acceleration of a potentially global endeavor.  

Hence, having succumbed, she was allowed to become aware of previously concealed chicaneries. In time, she came to believe if staged healing were needed to bring atheists to the Lord, such frauds could be justified. As her elevation in the Jones’ People’s Temple increased, her awareness of sordid tactics grew clearer. 

When any follower voiced a wish to leave, he or she was sedated into a long-term slumber, in hidden rooms reserved for this purpose. As Jones’ wife Marceline was a nurse, she could ascertain the correct amount for the body weight, without causing either brain damage or death.  When allowed to awaken, the skeptic would have no memory of the experience, and ideally, no further wish to leave.  

An equally venomous tool of control lay in Jones’ pretense of wishing a sense of harmony to pervade the community.  In fact, the principle of “divide and rule” was exploited to its utmost.  This resulted in the quelling of potential friendships.  Jones encouraged the slightest hint of grousing to be reported to him, ASAP.  Those who complied had an opportunity to rise in rank in his mini-empire.  
As to Ms. Layton’s decision to leave, it is always hard to determine, just as in any relationship or friendship, when someone, dissatisfied for some while, decides to end long-term ties.  In her incisive but vivid way, Ms. Layton shows us, as readers, her growing disillusionment.  Once having decided to leave, she realized the need to plan. In fact, this meant her waiting until 1978  in order to flee.  

She was wise to have chosen that time, as only a few months later, on November 18 of that same year, the 909 adherents remaining in Jonestown were coerced into joining in a videoed mass suicide, brought about by ingesting a soft drink containing a deadly dose of cyanide.  (Jones himself appears to have died due to a self-inflicted bullet wound to his head)

Although this book review may seem to cover Ms. Layton’s memoir, in fact it is only an outline of a book which voices adult understanding of a girl on the edge of womanhood, wishing to contribute globally, and vulnerable to the cajoling of a master strategist. 

I believe almost anyone reading this book, especially those who grew up during that era when the hopes of youth were reinforced by beliefs in invincibility, will feel the intensity which impelled Ms. Layton to be absorbed by this seemingly infinite path towards   universal improvement.  

The Quality of Mercy: An Autobiography by Mercedes McCambridge

Carlotta Mercedes Agnes McCambridge. March 16, 1916 – March 2, 2004

While reading absorbs a great deal of my leisure time, the books I value most are those I know will remain with me for the rest of my life.  Somewhat to my surprise, this happened with the Mercedes McCambridge autobiography. 

Overall, I tend to enjoy memoirs written by or about those who took part in films where, not allowed the visual effects and erotic scenes of current movies, were obliged to create programs, whether comic or dramatic, with well-scripted dialogue, in order to grasp and retain listeners’ absorption. 

(As a proud, self-proclaimed curmudgeon, I believe the easy reliance on visual effects and erotica available in our time has eroded creativity while making it easy for laziness regarding to dialog and characterization.)  Beginning her acting career in radio, Ms. McCambridge was described by Orson wells as the finest living radio actress.  

Early on, in this autobiography, she gives homage to nineteenth-century actress Sarah Siddons, who wrote of herself, “I was an honest actress.”  In an age where cosmetic surgery was either nonexistent or hazardous, anyone hoping for public appeal needed to gain it by talent, charisma, and yes, an honesty which could reach the souls of an audience.  Like Sarah Siddons, once television took over, she felt she could not compete, at least on a visual level, with Ava Gardner, Lana Turner, and the then thought incomparable Elizabeth Taylor.

Born on March 16 1916 in Joliet Illinois into an Irish Catholic family, christened Carlotta Mercedes Agnes McCambridge, later shortened to “Mercy” (Indeed, her book begins with her saying she enjoys this abbreviation, as it is difficult to voice the word “mercy” with any real anger.)  Having said that, she shows us, though she does not seek out confrontation, she does not deflect it when it seems vital, in order to shield herself or a person or animal cherished by her.  Her parents’ marriage, like many during that time, was one in which the wife remained tight-lipped and long-suffering, while the husband sought pleasures.

In one characteristic example, as a young man, her father promised his priest he would not imbibe even one sip of alcohol for a year. The sole flexibility lay in his freedom to drink at weddings, funerals and wakes.  While adhering to his word, Mr. McCambridge scrutinized newspaper announcements of any of the above-mentioned ceremonies or solemnities, within one hundred miles of his home.. Having found such a ceremony, he would arrive uninvited, fully partaking in all available types of refreshments. Evidently, his charm was such as to allow him to mingle with guests or mourners while evoking no inquiries which necessitated his demanded departure. 

It may have been this enjoyment of drinking which predisposed Ms. McCambridge to the alcoholism which was to haunt her middle years.  Still, given the candor of every part of this book, she does not attempt to blame anyone for a dependence which resulted in several hospitalizations. 

During an era when a guest in one’s home, at almost any hour, was offered a drink as casually as coffee is in our day, it was often difficult to perceive the edge beyond which conviviality deepened into a condition which ended or shortened the lives of so many of both the famous and unknown.  Due to her own determination and the bolstering of fellow members of Alcoholics Anonymous, she grew brave enough to publicly acknowledge this struggle, and admit to the anguish of overcoming its grip.  

Although causing her family some chagrin, her statement allowed many others to accept and seek help.  A further dimension of this book is her cameo portraits of various intimates, directors, fellow actors and political figures.  One of the most poignant moments occurs when an aging actor, asked by a student from a group he was addressing, the best way to become a good actor, paused a moment, then replied with no trace of sarcasm, “By acting in about four-hundred plays."

A unique encounter occurred between actress Marlene Dietrich and Ms. McCambridge.  Ms. Dietrich, staving off the onslaught of time with increasing effort, but with success, once spoke to Ms. McCambridge in a way which initially sounded amazingly rude. Beginning with the obligatory Hollywood “Darling”, she told Ms. McCambridge she need not look as bad as she did.  Still, this comment was based on a benevolence which later emerged when Ms. Dietrich sent her four of her loveliest gowns from which to choose for her appearance at the upcoming Academy Awards.
  
Having chosen a chiffon dress, Ms. McCambridge returned all four gowns to Ms. Dietrich after the event.  With true grace, Ms. Dietrich sent back the chosen one, advising her to wear it all the time.  Though this advice was a bit eccentric, Ms. McCambridge understood it stemmed from a genuine kindness.  In fact, she did receive an Oscar for her role in the 1949 film All the King’s Men, and a similar nomination for her role in a movie adapted from the Edna Ferber novel, Giant.

Undoubtedly, her most exotic role was as the demon in the 1973 film The Exorcist, a novel by William Peter Blatty.  To gain the horrific speech and breathing patterns and rhythms required, she forced herself to swallow raw eggs and be tied to a chair.  Later, the magnificence of her performance would be marred, in the minds of many, by an exhaustive contractual dispute as to whether she had relinquished the right to the listing of her name among the credits. Given the pivotal nature of this demon who she made seem so credible, it is hard to conceive of how any controversy could have arisen.  Still, given the decades, in addition to the elevation of this film’s classic, any behind-the-scenes squabbles and quarrels have been, in all probability, largely forgotten.
  
Her numerous roles on radio, in films, and on television can be easily found.  In addition, the names and outlines of her two husbands and son are available in the briefest of profiles. 

This book, starting with its opening sentence, made a connection deep within me, and I hope it will have the same impact upon future readers. 

Unbuttoning America by Ardis Cameron

Unbuttoning America

Full Title: Unbuttoning America: A biography of "Peyton Place" by Ardis Cameron

Any writer able to create a character or location which becomes part of the linguistic landscape is, I believe, entitled to both respect and honor.  
This recognition indicates a profound part of the human soul has been tapped into and touched.  Hence, to describe any one as a Scrooge evokes ideas of major stinginess, while the word "quixotic” is based on Cervantes’ “Don Quixote”, depicting someone consumed by ideals to the point of dismissing the dreary details of daily monotony.  

Given this standard, Grace Metalious’ 1956 novel, “Peyton Place" has joined this lexicon.  Viewed in its time as lascivious and salacious, even now, whether or not one has read it, any town, community, university, office etc. where undercurrents of passion and corruption exist just beneath a polished, genteel ambiance, is likely to be referred to as a Peyton Place.  Ardis Cameron’s book is, in its true sense, a dual biography of both the history of Peyton Place through the years, and its writer, Grace Metalious.  

During WWII, countless young women had worked as nurses, or taken on factory jobs, striving to fill the emptiness left by so many young men having to risk/sacrifice their lives.  This freedom, while motivated by need, made it easier for women to interact with both one another and whatever men were not in military service.  Hence, latent lesbianism came to the fore.  Overall, the liberty to release libidos, permitted only to men throughout the centuries, grew available to women as well, although nearly always beneath a deeper veneer of discretion.

Given the joy of admitting and acting out erotic urges towards men who were not their husbands, made it difficult, after the war, to return to docile domesticity.  Once having reveled in their release, many women felt confined by those traditional roles once again foisted upon them.  Undoubtedly partly due to this reason, when during the mid 1950s, Grace Metalious found a publisher for her novel, (Peyton Place), she unearthed an audience thirsting for the candor it offered.

Women who had become pregnant, felt the need to undergo clandestine abortions, engage in extra-marital liaisons, or the penultimate taboo, incest, felt allowed to admit these facts and emotions, first to themselves, and then in letters to Grace, long before fan mail became an acceptable means of reaching a celebrity of any kind.  Until her stacks of mail became overwhelming, she responded to every letter with respect and candor. 

Who then was this Grace Metalious?  Given her writing, she was perceived as a gazelle who was offered and delighted in every fleshly pleasure.  In fact, she was an overweight wife and mother, who made only the most basic efforts to enhance the appearance of her hair, face and body, and then only for interviews conducted on televised talk shows. 

When asked why she had written her book, she said, in addition to her delight in the writing process, her family needed the money. All to often, living solely on her husband’s salary as a schoolteacher, she had needed to scrounge through their cupboards in order to prepare a barely edible dinner.  Once her novel was published, her husband suffered the humiliation of being fired from his job, due to the perceived sordid nature of “Peyton Place”.  Still, as it soon became a best/seller, this shortfall was remedied. 

Although at first surprised and disconcerted by the contrast between their perception of Grace and her unabashed stance of “Take me as I  am, or don’t bother”, this soon became a source of comfort and motivation to many of her female readers.  If a woman in her late thirties, on the plain and plump side, could achieve the fame Grace had accrued, why could they not do so as well, or at least make the effort ?  In what I view as one of her most sparkling responses regarding the supposed paltriness of her book,  she said if she was a lousy writer, there must be a large number of readers out there with equally lousy taste. 

Still, despite her seeming self-confidence, a bottle of whiskey was at hand, nearly at all times.  Doubtless due to this alcoholism, she died at only thirty-nine, due to what would currently have been diagnosed as cirrhosis of the liver.

Her book, or various versions of it, outlived her for decades. During the early 1960 s, it became a TV serial which would have almost certainly appalled her.  In keeping with the cliches of its time, heroes and heroines were rewarded, while villains were punished.  In short, what Grace Metalious intended as a puncturing of the balloon of small town life, was transformed into syrup.

Still, despite its popularity, with episodes featured three times each week, this series has become more-or-less forgotten.  What has remained is the term “Peyton Place”, which has become a way of conveying those glints of gossip which comprise so much of our day-to-day conversation.  

Arguably, this is, in itself, a triumph. 

The Rose Hotel by Rahimeh Andalibian

Rahimeh Andalibian 

Full Title: The Rose Hotel: A Memoir of Secrets, Loss, and Love From Iran to America by Rahimeh Andalibian 

This book begins with a delightful account of Ms. Andalibian and her brother’s happily romping through their parents’ Rose Hotel. While their opening the refrigerator in order to ascertain the location of chocolate bars for future reference, and playing hide-and-seek on business premises were beyond parental guidelines, these children knew, if caught, they would be reprimanded gently.
  
Their home in Iran was pervaded by warmth, affection, delectable food, and a discipline which, although definite, always conveyed   understanding.  Its   main requirement consisted of absolute adherence to Islamic teachings.  Although this entailed strictures unusual in many parts of the world, these children, grown accustomed to its demands, complied with no more than the occasional inner sense of frustration.  Then, as often happens, a seemingly minor incident sets in motion a series of events which would haunt the family for decades to come, eventually forcing them to feel the need to leave Iran for America.  

Sadly, revolutions tend to release evil; actions which would not be dared in ordinary day-to-day life become permissible.  This proves especially true if the perpetrators can convince a court their motives were based on political principles, rather than the egoistic joy of reveling in a sense of control-causing harm with impunity.  Hence, in 1979, two drunken youths raped and battered a woman old enough to have been their grandmother.  When their victim pointed this out, indicating the grayness of her hair, they simply scoffed in hilarity.

Once this woman, abandoned and injured, had been rescued and brought to a hospital, the question became what should be done to prevent her abusers from harming others in the same or similar ways.  As her recollections were vague, the suspects needed to be confined somewhere before they could be arrested.  Given his reputation as being public-spirited and deeply moralistic, Mr. Andalibian was asked to house the suspected perpetrators in his hotel, while the police gathered evidence to justify their arrest and imprisonment. 

Therefore, despite his wife’s fury and terror regarding these criminals potential contact with their children, the father, having secluded the suspects for some while, in time, allowed them to perform jobs in the hotel.  Like many truly fine human beings, Mr. Andalibian believed the goodness in others could be awakened if sufficient trust was bestowed.

Unfortunately, his eldest son, Abdullah, in his mid-teens, was at the most opportune time in life to enjoy a sense of revolt.  Just as Iranians were being urged to over-turn long-held beliefs, Abdullah began to talk with these suspects.  Eager to avenge themselves on his father, they were overjoyed to recruit and exploit his son.  To recount the consequences of this “friendship” would ruin the rest of this book for future readers.  It is enough to say increasing layers of subterfuge were needed to be deployed.  This ended in the family’s realization of their need to first visit, and later take up permanent residence in America.  

Still, their emotional past could not be avoided.  The veiling of information became more suffocating than the most extreme form of purdah.  It would take years of estrangement, horrific substance abuse, and intense interpersonal strife, until, urged by a psycho-therapist, the true nature of what had occurred was revealed and then discussed between all of them. 

This memoir ends with a sense of familial reconciliation earned by a willingness by each member to be open with one another. Silences and tensions arise, but each member knows, at some point, they will become a unit again.

Ms. Andalibian, herself a psycho-therapist, has also begun a program to help those with learning disabilities to gain knowledge in an enjoyable way.  Her memoir indicates her work will become imprinted upon psychological awareness.
  
She ends her book with the hope that the nakedness of her exposure of concealed conflicts within her family will motivate others to scrutinize issues they have ignored for years, thereby growing closer to one another.  Painful as this purging might be, if done with tenderness and honesty, it will, she believes, prove worth the depths of its anguish.