Lois Gould (1931–2002)

This was the result of some drunk eBaying after watching the adaption of the novel by Otto Preminger, which isn’t, to be honest, a very good film. But reading up about the story on Wikipedia persuaded me it might be worth a punt, and I found a copy for a couple of quid – a tatty hardback – on eBay from one of those big secondhand clearance sellers and, well, bought it. And it is indeed much better than the film. The Wikipedia entry describes it as “stream-of-consciousness” but it really isn’t. It’s very much fixed in the POV of its protagonist, Julie Messinger, whose husband – NY magazine art director and illustrator of a best-selling children’s book – is in a coma after an adverse reaction to the anaesthetic used in his operation to remove a mole. As friends and colleagues gather to donate blood and comfort Julie, so she slowly learns of her husband’s constant philandering. And each medical intervention in the comatose man’s condition only makes his situation worse. The film plays the story as a black comedy, stressing the incompetence of the doctors and hospital – in fact, in the movie, the coma is caused by a surgeon nicking an artery during surgery. But in the book, the doctors do their best – if only because it will reflect well on them. For all the book wasn’t exactly an intentional purchase, so to speak, it was a pretty good read. There’s not much information on Gould on Wikipedia, but if I stumble across one of her other novels I might well give it a go.… (meer)

A fictionalized life of Eva Peron (Gould calls her Rosa Montero) which--despite vigorous narrative technique and evocative detailing--sticks too close to familiar history to succeed as a work of the imagination. True, the first few pages are simply splendid, with a larger-than-life, dreamlike quality: years after Rosa's death, exiled Montero (Peron) and new wife Maria Blanca (history's Mafia Estela, a.k.a. Isabelita) are preparing to return to power. . . complete with Rosa's perfectly embalmed, beautifully coffined corpse. And as Gould then flashes back to tell Rosa's story, she tries to preserve this mythic mood--with musical prose, with imaginary place-and-time (Argentina is ""Pradera,"" no dates are given), with selective vignettes that compress events. But, while many individual scenes are zestfully, ironically rendered, the narrative is essentially fact-bound (Gould's inventiveness is mostly limited to sexual specifics); and the quasi-feminist angle, though plausible in part, is a crude one that's fast becoming a biographical clichÉ: Eva/Rosa as victim-of-men. Illegitimate, raped (from age eight) by her father, her priest, and her mother's boarders, Rosa turns to movie-star fantasies and vows that ""Nothing will touch me."" She runs off to the capital with a tango singer; she uses her teenage charms (bisexually) to rise in films and radio; she learns how to exploit her charisma--which, together with her expertise at fellatio, makes her the favorite of Pradera's Colonels. . . especially Minister of Labor Carlos Montero. And, thanks to her high-placed sexual conquests, broadcaster Rosa--now idol of the poor--makes pedophilic Montero a hero, saves his career (after an embezzlement scandal) with demonstracions, helps him become VP, then President. But, despite legal wedlock, Senora Montero is scorned by society (snubbed by a ladies' group, she starts her own Foundation); she is never really trusted by Montero (the ""devil is a woman"" syndrome); when she tries to run for VP, he blocks her. . . and perhaps even accelerates her death. (Eva had cancer of the uterus; Rosa's more complex disease is the direct result of a violent childhood rape.) And, ironically, it is Maria/Isabelita who--briefly, after Montero's death--will become La Presidenta. Gould works expertly at creating an erotic, hothouse atmosphere (though her interpolation of Spanish often seems like a silly crash-course at Berlitz). And the Evita boom will certainly add to this novel's allure. But finally it's caught in that fact/fiction limbo--with neither the illuminating power of good history nor the surprise and magic of great storytelling.… (meer)