Fates and Furies

Ostensibly this is supposed to be a novel about marriage, but I think the question Laura Goff is actually posing in this tale – which just happens to involve a marriage – is: “To what extent are we capable of truly knowing ourselves?”

Lancelot “Lotto” Satterwhite, raised to believe himself a young prince – wealthy, charismatic, handsome – fashions a whole life around this self-delusion. So convincing is he, the people around him become willing participants in helping to create and maintain the self-delusion. He never seems to question why he should be so universally beloved even though he rarely gives more than he gets; why he shouldn’t attain celebrity as a playwright, in spite of the fact that he’s never really show more written anything; or why he shouldn’t be entitled to the “perfect wife,” in spite of the fact that he almost never bothers to wonder what it is that he has to offer her. His life, in short, seems wholly shaped by the “Fates” referenced in the title of the novel.

Whereas Lotto’s inamorata, Mathilde, constructs a life shaped by Furies – ancient Greek spirits believed to wreak vengeance on those who commit crimes. Having been raised to believe she possesses a fundamentally wicked nature, it never seems to occur to Mathilde that there are other ways to pay for college than pimping herself to a ghastly older man who enjoys debasing her; or that she might possess enough love to share with both a husband and a child; or that she might be worthy of love without having to constantly earn it.

Given that Goff is supposed to be such a terrific writer, one might wonder why this novel has received so many so-so reviews from readers. I suspect it comes down to frustration – frustration over the inability of her characters to engage in honest self-reflection. Most of the stories we’re drawn to – as children, and later as adults - contain strong character arcs: either humble everymen who develop into heroes, or heroes who experience a hubristic plummet into humility. In contrast, no one in this novel (with the notable exception of Lotto’s younger sister Rachel) ever learns, changes, matures, or grows.

Where Goff’s talent shows itself to best advantage is in the way she has crafted this modern morality tale. Unveiling both halves of the relationship at once would have been a more conventional approach. But by first presenting the marriage through Lotto’s eyes and then, later, through Mathilde’s eyes, Goff forces her readers to explore how these differences in perception are shaped not just by who the characters are, but who they believe themselves to be.

Which, in turn, spawns a host of weighty questions – questions sure to trigger many a juicy book club discussion. To what extent are we, as adults, able to defy or transcend the forces that mold us throughout our psychologically fragile childhood years? To what extent do we unconsciously (or consciously) become complicit in sustaining the self-delusions of the people in our lives? Do we have a “duty” to seek self-understanding? (And, if so, a duty to who? Ourselves? Our family? The people we love?) Is being able to experience love predicated on self-awareness? On honesty? On being able to love (or at least forgive) ourselves? And what constitutes a “good marriage” anyway – is it the ability to gain from one’s partner the support one needs, or the support one “deserves”?

Fairly early on, readers will realize that Goff intends her work to be appreciated not just as a story, but as a literary construct. In addition to the deliberately artful method of storytelling described above, there are plenty of references to Greek plays and myths – including frequent bracketed comments that – in the style of a Greek chorus – constantly comment on the main action of the story. But none of this need distract from the fact that many of us continue to live lives shaped by fate and fury, if only we possess the self-awareness to perceive it. show less

Lotto is excessively tall, handsome, white, rich, full of the self-confidence of an actor (he is an actor; later a playwright), charismatic, and ferociously loyal and faithful to the woman he loves, his wife, Mathilde. Mathilde is excessively tall, strikingly beautiful, white, rich, brimming with steely determination, ruthlessly loyal and faithful to the man she loves, her husband, Lotto. They make a lovely couple and their story, right up to the surprising death of Lotto in mid-life is one of romantic hardships braved together and eventual success (Lotto’s as a playwright) earned on their own terms. But the story continues after Lotto’s death and both thereafter and through numerous flashbacks to Mathilde’s life before Lotto we show more learn that she, at least, has never been fully what she seemed.

It’s a novel, you might say, of two halves. But are they equal halves?

Mathilde’s backstory is so extreme that it makes a nonsense of her life of more than 20 years with Lotto. She is revealed as essentially dissembling, diabolical, murderous, unsentimental, even fiendish. But she’s always been this way, we learn. Meanwhile Lotto’s character remains consistent in the second half of the novel. There are no stunning turnarounds, though we do see that he has been ignorant of more than just Mathilde’s true character over the course of his life.

I think the concept for this novel was perhaps more interesting than the accomplishment. This, despite the fact that Groff is so evidently a fine writer. I thoroughly enjoyed her synopses of Lotto’s plays and the unfinished opera. There is verve in the writing and it would still have been a fine novel even if it had ended at the midpoint. However, our discovery that Mathilde is practically a Bond-villain in her duplicitousness undercuts what had been achieved to that point. For surely, given that this novel is written in close third-person, we do not have two sides of the same story. We only have one story for which we were deliberately misled by the author throughout the first half. And that doesn’t work, at least for me. It’s not merely that Lotto and Mathilde have different viewpoints on the same events. I hardly think that would be surprising. Rather, it’s that Lotto’s viewpoint is lessened to be merely naive. What we are left with is simply Mathilde’s story with the now childish and child-like Lotto in the shadows. And in fact, from the novelist’s perspective and ours as readers, that’s all we’ve ever had.

Lauren Groff is an exceptional writer whose work I will continue to read with interest. Nevertheless, on this occasion, not recommended. show less

So here's a conundrum: The overriding theme of all the Greek myths is the conflict between man, who thinks he can control his fate, and the gods, who have the true power and must choose how and why they wield it. And it's a major theme of Groff's book, with the manipulations divided between actual, honest-to-god (ha) fates and humans standing in for them, with those humans also succumbing to the flaws that catch the gods' unwanted attention in the first place: narcissism, hubris, lust, etc. I totally get what Groff was doing here, and I applaud her for taking it on. It's a really interesting and complex setup.

But oh, that ending—in which Groff falls prey to some really serious authorial hubris. I actually stepped back a moment, after show more closing the book, and wondered if that was the point she was trying to make with this awful deus ex machina action. Is it a meta-commentary on her own novel, on her godlike role as its author? But... nah, I don't think so. Not after an effort like that. I think she was the victim of her own all-too-human hamartia there. Which kind of makes the whole thing awesome, but not in the way she'd intended, I don't think, and as a reader it frustrated the hell out of me.

I had a love-hate relationship with the book in general. Didn't like the writing style, which I found a bit too show-offy—like someone who comes to a party with their clever lines at the ready—but style is personal, and I got used to it. And I really did like what she was doing with the book. But the ending made me gnash my teeth. Whom the gods would destroy, I guess.

Anyway, I'm glad I read it. Groff's talented, and I'm interested to see what she comes up with next (and need to go back and read Arcadia. show less

An intricately detailed and intimate portrait of a marriage as told from both sides. It's a novel about love and the things we do for love: the lies we tell, the burdens we bear, and the secrets we keep.

When Lancelot marries Mathilde, his shrewish mother disinherits them. Both don't care, they'll make it on their own with the power of their love. Eventually they do, although it takes most of their twenties. Lotto wants to be an actor but is unsuccessful. But after drunkenly writing part of a play one night when blackout drunk, they collectively discover his gift. After the first play comes many more and Lancelot becomes a world renowned playwright.

Their marriage weathers much but endures until Lancelot's death at 46. That's when the show more reader is first truly introduced to Mathilde whose life has been overshadowed in every way by her husband. Who is this mysterious woman, and what is her story?

I found this novel vital and I drank it down as quickly as I could. The story is not exactly happy or sad, but beautiful and surprising. The author's voice is powerful and painfully unique. Unusual turns of phrase became a narrative norm. So refreshing. show less

People want to lick other people's faces way too much in this novel. Like, once is enough for that particular gesture to occur to a character out of the blue, don't you think? You may disagree but personally I don't think most people have regular thoughts about how they want to lick one another's faces. So to have characters think somewhat regularly or even more than once about licking one another's faces, in the same novel, felt odd to me.

Indeed I have many questions about this novel. My main question is: Huh? Because it's not just the licking, let's face it, it's the whole damn book, every sentence, that feels gloopy, and a little gross. You may find yourself reading along like I was reading along, thinking that this language sounds show more great and witty. But at some point, unlucky you, you might just slow down enough listen to these particular words on the page in front of you, and you may eventually find you are pondering their meaning, instead of just being carried away by their sense impression. And then, well, watch out, because the rest of your reading experience will be wondering what the heck the author meant to say. People in this novel say things like "My family traded me for three mules and a bucket of butter" and "Bridget is to dating Lotto the way a remora is to dating a shark." Do these things mean anything to you? Well. Then this novel is for you. Eventually I stopped saying to myself "wow how original" and started saying instead "but wait, that actually doesn't mean anything" and even "Of all the silly nonsense, this is the stupidest tea party I've ever been to in all my life."

The staccato style of not-sentences crammed with unlikely verbs reminds me of Annie Proulx's [b:The Shipping News|7354|The Shipping News|Annie Proulx|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1386924131s/7354.jpg|310090], but I didn't mind that style back in 1993, because it was new and not derivative, and also because the style was attached to an interesting story about a vanishing way of life, whereas Fates & Furies just seems attached to the author's navel.

That's about my take. Try reading it yourself and see what you think. Everyone else seems to think this novel is heart-palpitatingly amazing and you might agree. show less

Audiobook performed by Will Damron and Julia Whelan

From the book jacket: They meet in the final months of college, and by graduation, they have married. It’s 1991. …A decade or so later, though, Lotto and Mathilde are on their way. He is a world-famous playwright, she is integral to his success. Their life and marriage are the envy of friends, the very definition of successful partnership.

My Reactions
Well I certainly didn’t see THAT coming! I don’t read the book jacket summaries before reading a book-club selection, so had no warning of “an explosive twist” other than the title.

The book is told by the two central characters. Lancelot / Lotto tells their story in the first section: Fates. Groff is masterful building these show more characters, with qualities that draw the reader into their circle. They are young, in love, each other’s champion against the world. Mathilde never stops believing in Lotto, encouraging him, supporting them with her small gallery job as he struggles as an actor. When his mother cuts them off, Mathilde makes sure Lotto’s Aunt Sallie and little sister, Rachel, are welcomed for annual visits. She hosts parties for their friends, and includes his childhood buddy Chollie, who seems not much more than a moocher. They are a devoted couple. Apparently.

One revelation breaks the bond. Forcing first Lotto, and then Mathilde to examine their relationship.

When Mathilde takes over narrating in the Furies section the truths and lies tumble one after another, leaving this reader reeling. Every single character’s “other side” is revealed. No one and nothing is what it seemed at first. By the end I’m left feeling battered and bruised and stunned. I want to start reading it again from the beginning so I can pick up any clues Groff may have buried.

Will Damron and Julia Whelan are perfect in performing the audio version. I absolutely believed in their characters, was drawn in and held captive from beginning to end.

Readers take note: There is considerable sex in the book, some of it disturbing. show less

I was a little surprised at how negatively my book circle members reacted to this novel.

The first section centers on Lotto (Lancelot) Satterwhite, scion of a wealthy but strange Florida family, given all the advantages. But his controlling mother disowns him, disapproving of his fairy-tale marriage, and, struggling as an actor, he is supported emotionally and financially by his wife Mathilde, his aunt, his sister, his friends from school, until his eventual and remarkable success as a playwright. He loves his wife, trusts his friends, and seems the golden boy. I got somewhat tired of it. When his story ends, Mathilde's steps out of his shadow. Who is she really? We have learned so little about her as the novel concentrates on Lotto. And show more there is a lot to learn. She, of course, is one of the furies, but how much of her story is true? Her early life, her odd family, are completely hidden from her husband, but drive her actions and her own need for control and revenge. The author is not above using spectacular events to punctuate the narrative, both in the forward journey of the plot and the backward look at origins, and I suspect some of the group found the author as controlling as the characters. But I enjoyed the story, in spite of some eyebrow-raising coincidences at the end . show less