Rachel IngallsBesprekingen

literature, read, 2024, top24, umich, library, 1980s, 20th, us

I sort of hesitated between 3 or 4 stars. Basically I liked it quite a lot all the way to the ending, I recognised the ending is the "correct" ending structurally and everything... but I still wanted a different ending, and not just cause it's sad.

Like, if you have the courage to write a book about a woman's relationship with a frog person, you've got to see it through. Don't end it on the frogman disappearing from her life because it's very appropriately parallel with her relationship with her husband and he disappears at the moment she's emotionally affected by her husband more than frogman Yes, that works literarily, but why the hell not go further? Just have the frogman live with her forever. Or have a coda where she takes him back to his home, even if it's still sad because her husband's death estranged her from frogman. Just. Justice for frogman Frogman had a story too, and he deserved an ending.

But again... it feels like the "right" ending, structurally. I expected it. And there's depth to it - the language and image links back to other parts of Dorothy's life discussed in the book (most notably her dead dog Bingo). Like I know it's right, that it's a well written ending... but still. There's a childish part of me that wanted to see the frogman more. I mean. In a way I guess that's the point. Agh. I guess it's probably a 4, really.

Unique story of an unhappy marriage. A wife falls in love with a (self created?) creature to replace her husband. Interestingly, the creature disappears the moment the husbands dies.

A funny but serious examination of erotic relationships. The use of intelligent love robots is prescient for 1987. A quick, fun novella.

Here we have a book about an unhappy housewife in a miserable marriage who finds passion and purpose when she has an affair. But let's break that down a bit... This unhappy housewife, Dorothy, is unhappy because she's married to, but estranged from, a serial philanderer who largely ignores her and takes her for granted. She has lost a child and a dog. She lives a beige existence where nothing particularly interesting ever really happens. Her best friend is a me-monster who leans heavily and gives little.

And then Larry walks into her life, literally. He wanders into her home and stands before her... A towering frogman with overwhelming sex appeal who has escaped from a science lab where he was being experimented on and is on the run for the murder of two abusive lab employees.

Well, of course she takes Larry in. She hides Larry away in her guest room and feeds him amazing salads and a LOT of avocados. He helps around the house and is a caring and generous friend.

They commence an affair and spend time together screwing in every room of the house and under the cloak of night go swimming at the beach, frolicking through rich people's gardens, holding hands, dressing Larry up in wigs and glasses, and teaching him to drive. Dorothy's life changes overnight and she is finally alive and energised.

Other stuff happens, too, but it is all written so matter of factly despite the fantastical nature of the story that it feels perfectly normal.

Is Larry the amphibious man real or a necessary figment of her imagination created to soothe the desperate loneliness and pointlessness of her bland existence? Who gives a shit? This is a marvellous, wondrous story of love, revenge, and validation.

This book is not monster erotica. The sex scenes are devoid of nervous systems and are presented as objective events without a single nerve end sparking, not a single drop of sweat: “They went swimming together and then made love on the beach” (59). Why?

The story begins with Dorothy (the central character) hearing “special voices [that] . . . had a soft, close, dreamlike quality” (6). We learn of her recent trauma and soon the monster appears: “She was as surprised and shocked as if she had heard an explosion and seen her own shattered legs go flying across the floor” (19). This surreal image characterizes the reality portrayed throughout the novel. What’s fascinating is Ingalls’ narrative point of view. Pulling just back from full omniscience, the reader is left to discern Dorothy’s reality and how trauma has pushed her into a protracted nerve-deadening delusion

1990 regal ETeixidor

Dorothy is overwhelmed by her son’s death, a miscarriage, and the death of a dog that was supposed to have comforted her. Her marriage is unfulfilling since she and Fred, her husband, live separately under the same roof. Fred has been unfaithful. Dorothy is incredibly lonely and seeks companionship and love. My favorite quote from the novel is "I think we're too unhappy to get divorced," found on page 17.

After hearing warnings on the radio that a dangerous monster has escaped from an oceanographic institute, which may be figments of her imagination and unconscious, she allows Larry, the frogman monster, into her house and lets him stay in the guest room. She gives him food and finds that he is a good listener when she shares many of the depressing aspects of her life and her concerns about her only friend Estelle. Dorothy has both an emotional and sexual affair with Larry and begins to develop some self-esteem.

It doesn’t matter whether Larry is a live creature or something that Dorothy imagines to fill a void in her life. With either interpretation, we have an engaging novel with plot points and themes worth pondering. Dorothy refuses to believe that Larry is violent or dangerous. Based on Larry’s reports, she thinks it is much more likely that the researchers mistreated him. While reading this well-written and concise novel, the author gives us much to consider. Questions regarding the quality of relationships both in marriage and friendships provide subtext. Larry provides pertinent and poignant commentary about differences and sameness within and between species. Dorothy reconsiders many notions about finding one’s kindred spirit. The characters also give us much to consider about loyalty and betrayal among friends and spouses.

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A short, strange book about a housewife who welcomes a large frog man into her home. I finished the book in an evening. It took me until the next day to decide that I think I liked the book.

Very much a novel about the married lives of women, about desire, and about betrayal. At once incisive and very sad, an unusual story of a relationship between a woman and a creature.

A good novella tells a full story in an economy of space. Well-developed characters, a strong story arc, and writing that will immediately pull the reader in. Ingalls has achieved all three in her odd little work about an unhappy woman who falls in love with a sea monster escaped from a research institute. Yeah, I know. But it works! From the first pages, I was completely engaged in the story and eager to see where it would go.

Published in 1983 Mrs Caliban tells the fantastic story of a young-ish, suburban housewife who has an affair with an amphibious human-like creature named Larry who has escaped a research facility and shows up one day in her kitchen. Dorothy has had a string of sad misfortunes since she’s been married and her marriage has deteriorated to where the couple barely speaks to each other. And while the author presents this in a tragicomedy manner, there can be no mistaking the social commentary. This was a short, fun read but also thoughtful. It also brought to mind Betty Friedan’s “the problem that has no name” and I wondered how I would have responded to this if I have read it back in 1983 when it was first published, or what my grown daughters might think of it now.

This novella is difficult to describe. I think of it like Desperate Housewives meets Land of the Lost - the Sat. AM sea creature TV show of my childhood. The lizard-like beings with bulbous eyes infiltrated more than one of my nightmares, but were so clearly "fake" that fear was a laughable response. Dorothy is going about her usual housework in what feels like a 1950s or early 60s suburban home when Larry aka Aquarius the Monsterman shows up in her kitchen. He has escaped from an Oceanic Research Institute and seeks asylum from her. He is very sympathetic, with good manners, the ability to communicate in English, and an obvious desire for her. Dorothy feels needed and wanted, which hasn't been the case in her life with Fred for years. He is cheating on her she suspects, and the two have a history of loss and sorrow after their son Scotty died young and they lost a baby soon after that. With his vivid green color, Larry brings Dorothy's bland world to life. She care for him and cares about him, teaching him things about American social mores and interaction, food, TV and radio. They take nighttime walks together where he won't be seen and swim at the beach. They become lovers - ew, but that part is thankfully mentioned in passing, and really the tale becomes one of acceptance and challenging the suburban norms. She manages to keep him a secret until several events coalesce involving Dorothy best friend and an intersection with her own family in a Desperate Housewives type scenario. This is really a satire and a challenge to how we want to perceive our lives - definitely a commentary on women's roles and a host of other issues I'm still thinking about. Worth it for the novelty.

Beautifully done. I read and re read and re re read the moment when "Larry" bursts into Dorothy's house: "And she was halfway across the checked linoleum floor of her nice safe kitchen, when the screen door opened and a gigantic six-foot-seven-inch frog-like creature shouldered its way into the house and stood stock-still in front of her, crouching slightly, and staring straight at her face." Neat, direct, fast. A great writing lesson! The prose is spare and robust. Love.

Too bad the more mundane "Shape of Water" stole the thunder from this weird, wonderful little book. "She had had no interests, no marriage to speak of, no children. Now, at last, she had something."

i loved this. it shores up so many questions about humanity, fidelity, whether you can ever know a loved one.....with digs at consumerism, capitalism, patriarchal roles, and a complex and often joyful and barbed look at a female friendship.

Finally loving, finally living...

This is a book where the contents are everything and the language is very much constructed in a thoughtful and simple way. No meanderings are found here. Ingalls has written a masterpiece which could serve as a construct to understanding what some writings of love, alienation, and humanity can be like, over the course of a few dozen pages.

Also, this book is very funny at times.

“Come on back for a cup of coffee?” Estelle asked.
“I’d love to, but it’s got to be quick. Fred’s bringing somebody back from the office.”
“And you’re scurrying around to fulfil all your wifely obligations. My God, I don’t miss that.”
“You’re kidding. They’re getting spaghetti and they can like it.”

[...]

She accepted a second cup of coffee, first trying to persuade Estelle to add some water to it. Estelle was outraged. She declared that it would kill the taste.

“Then don’t fill it up. Honestly, Estelle.”
“Honestly yourself.”
“I don’t know why it doesn’t have any effect on you. I love it, but two cups make me feel dizzy. And like my scalp might suddenly rise up and fly away. Then there’s something over here—here, is that where the liver is?”
“Dorothy, that’s where the imagination is.”

[...]

“How bad is it?”
“What?” Estelle asked.
“The hangover.”
“I’ve got a hangover, all right. I’ve got a hangover from living forty-four long years.”

Then there are serenely human moments quickly described throughout the book:

She ate an early supper with Larry. They took a lot of extra time over their coffee. He wanted to know all about the Cranstons. The more Dorothy told him, the more he seemed fascinated. What struck him as most interesting was the fact that although Dorothy and Estelle talked about the Cranstons being “friends”, neither of them genuinely liked the couple. “Is this usual?” he asked. After some thought, Dorothy said she figured it probably was.

All in all, this book is highly recommendable.

Wow. The book meanders and teases, and then it grows taut, and then it snaps like a noose. The action is strange and vague for pages on end and then suddenly a fog lifts, and everything becomes brilliantly clear for just a moment; and for just a moment a character sees, really sees, what is important to her or him; and then the clarity dissipates again into a fog. Strange repeating motifs take shape at the edges of every scene. Wild animals. Conversations. Paintings. Hot air balloons. Dead brothers. Lost loves. There is a story here, but the book is more of a mood than a story, or maybe it's a couple of moods--a book of dueling feelings--of what Stan feels; of what Stan's wife Millie feels. The dialog is full of yearning, sadness, missed opportunity, and unspoken things. It's a book about greed and death. About mortality and belief. It's far more open-ended and mysterious than Ingalls's [b:Mrs. Caliban|34377087|Mrs. Caliban|Rachel Ingalls|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1488557112s/34377087.jpg|277087]. The only thing I'm sure about is that Ingalls loved these characters very much: their flawed humanity shines out. It's a strange book and I loved it.

What an odd little book. I'm not quite sure what to think of it....

Even though I knew the odd plot element (the frogman "monster"), I didn't know what to expect. It actually is such a sad story - a sad woman whose child died, marriage is on the rocks, husband is and has been unfaithful, living a life of drudgery meets a big, green, frogman. Hmmmm. I guess that makes this a fantasy?

The prose is spare and efficient in telling the story. Dorothy is a fairly well rounded character for such a short story. This quote about the turn a relationship can take after a tragedy or event is insightful:

"The first blow [tragedy] had stunned them both, but the second had turned them away from each other. Each subtly blamed the other while feeling resentment, fury and guilt at the idea that a similar unjust censure was radiating from the opposite side. Then, it became easier to sweep everything under the carpet; they were too exhausted to do anything else. And so it went on: silences, separateness, the despair of thinking out conversations that they knew would be hopeless."

This book..... is odd. Not in a bad way. Just. Odd. Satirical, weird, and unique; this story of an unhappy housewife who encounters a seven foot tall lizard man is compelling in a weird way. Mrs. Caliban starts falling for the creature practically instantly. She is so starved for affection that this curious, avocado loving, green, reptilian man practically falls into her bed and starts to take center stage in her life. Her husband doesn't notice, her best friend doesn't notice. It doesn't even seem to matter. She knows she can't keep this up forever though; he wants to go home and everyone in the area is on the lookout for him as he killed his captors when he escaped captivity. Bizarre and intriguing; it's quite short and I read it in an hour. I don't know what to make of it, so let me know if you ever read this one!

Dorothy and her husband Fred live in the same house but live separate lives. One night a frogman stranger enters the house as Dorothy is alone in the kitchen. Listening to the radio she knows he has escaped from the Institute and is wanted for murder. She hears his story and becomes close to him.

This is a different type of read for me. I liked Dorothy. Fred is a jerk. Larry (the frogman) is a necessary companion for her. Dorothy keeps Larry secret--her own delicious forbidden secret. Unfortunately, other secrets come out. Lives are destroyed and ruined.

The story is a quick read but not a light read. There is much to think about--would I hide Larry, would I become lovers with him, would I want to end a marriage, how far would I go to protect him. There are layers to this book and more questions than answers but it will stay with me after I close the cover.

Theft - devastating. The Man who was Left Behind - I've had that heart-string wrenched before.

Ms. Ingalls died this past March 5th. I've got this collection of her short stories out of the library for a short while longer. I want to absorb a bit more of what the inspired author left us, and this was the first book I found that I didn't have to get from a different library system.

Theft retells the crucifixion story from one of the thieves' point of view. Horrifying. The details of his dying, the cruelty of the world, all mashed up with the expectation that I was reading about the Jim Crow South suddenly morphing into clarity about the actual subject...the sheer, gut-churning *awfulness* of realizing this story's timelessness has many, many facets and not all of them are facile...the hideous way the world in its unchanging indifference crushes the already fallen and, uncaring, grinds on.

This Easter is a notable one. I've read something about the subject that has instructed me and edified me. All it took was a talented writer telling a coherent story!

The Man Who Was Left Behind follows Mackenzie, a WWI vet whose life was derailed by tragedies. I so empathized with him, I live among people like him, I am myself like him; a man whose life changed stations without warning or explanation or consultation, who carries on without a whole lot of interest in the proceedings and who, in the end, disconnects from the world so he can get on with living his span out.

It was poignant to me that Mackenzie left everything behind to be in the present which, for him, consisted of scraping off the detritus of his past. I liked Mackenzie, but I suspect lots of readers wouldn't and didn't. People who still have a lot to lose don't like people who don't, as a rule; the gulf is wide and the bridges few and far between. I liked that he read old books from the library to use his brain. But of course I would.

Early Morning Sightseer several things...I hated Tilney, and Barney was a bore; England really soaked into Author Ingalls ("pyjamas" and "moving house" from an Indiana boy? Never); and there are so many ways I felt Patricia Highsmith's fingers on this piece it was unnerving. I loved several turns of phrase, though; it is, after all, a Rachel Ingalls piece.

How fast everything had seemed, and how special and different and sophisticated and rich. All the things that had struck me at first—the odd formality that would have been unfriendliness at home, the attitudinizing, the orgies of talk, the tension and snobbery—seemed to make life so complicated. But then you acquire a taste for complicated things, nothing simpler will satisfy you. Go back home, and it's a let-down, there's something missing, everything is slower, duller, the conversation makes you want to bang your head against the wall.

There's an easter egg for the previous story, The Man Who Was Left Behind, in a minor character's name; it made me smile.

St. George and the Nightclub endings are as awkward and full of mistakes and fearful silences and babbling idiocies as beginnings are; the end of a marriage never, ever comes easy. Don cheated, some sleazeball told; Jeanie hurt, then hurt him; no one does it right all the time.

Forgiveness? What's that? A Rhodes nightclub evening with fools and lushes? No. Abandon hope. Just...breathe. And be damned grateful you still can.

Something to Write Home About details the final moments of self-delusion in John's two-year marriage to Amy, whose increasing mental illness is no longer avoidable and ignorable. Their Greek holiday just bashes his nose into the trouble Amy is in, makes him wretched then hopeful then numb; he breaks and stays broken, but fronts so Amy can't tell. Saddest of the sad stories.

All in all, a collection of mournful reflections on the nature and perils of intimacy; to my knowledge, Ingalls was not married nor romantically linked to any one person. I wonder if her father, an academic at Harvard, and mother the homemaker were unhappy. I read these without the great pleasure I read [Mrs. Caliban] with, but still with a huge sense of their honesty. Ingalls does not seem, on my current knowledge of her writing, to be able to write a dishonest sentence or use a superfluous image. Whence came this deep and fearless knowledge of intimate unhappiness? I'm of the school that says only one who knows can tell with such limpidity. Wherever she came by it, Ingalls understood and empathized with the unhappy. She bounded that experience with walls of words, fences of imagery, and made a dry, hot, bitter art out of unhappiness.

The Binsteads, Stan and Millie, from New England, are going on a safari. Stan is a professor of folklore and he has a secondary quest (to shooting animals) which is to find out more about a particular legend -- of a man who can shapechange into a lion -- . Their marriage is moribund, and one guesses that a couple in their late thirties, married awhile, with no children that this is the issue. Only it is and it isn't. Everything in this novel is and isn't. The Binsteads get to London and Stan, a philanderer, goes off with a friend and leaves Millie on her own. She falls in love with London and begins to come to life. They get to Africa and it is Millie who thrives there, to such a degree that Stan sees her afresh and remembers why he fell in love with her, albeit in a most self-centered and condescending manner. Ok -- but what I am writing does not convey that atmosphere of this tale -- for this is a tale about how we each make our own legends and tales and then live them, how we can be, once the enactment has fully gotten underway (or maybe never) are helpless to play out the stories we are drawn to even when we think we don't really believe them, that we're just interested. Stories are not only about the past, but shape the future. The setting is non-specific as is the time -- I would hazard the fifties as the story is rampant with white people in charge, but again, it is carefully non-specific as a fable should be. A final word? Here be lions. ****1/2½