Women in Their Beds by Gina Berriault (1997. Counterpoint Press. ISBN 1-887178-38-4)
No, I did not buy this book just because of its title or the cover. Shame on you for thinking such shallow thoughts. I bought this book because I came across an article or something in Poets and Writers Magazine regarding Berriault’s work. I had never read any of Berrault’s fiction and thought I’d give it a try. I’m glad I did.
Berriault’s style is reminiscent of Hemingway but without the misogyny. You can feel Ernest’s presence in many of these stories,not repeated as cheap mimicry but as if Berriault had absorbed Hemingway’s best and endowed it with a feminine touch. It took me a story or two to understand and appreciate the author’s linguistic skill and style but once you’ve settled in, I promise you that there’s not a story in this collection that will disappoint you. The themes are universal, the characters, enticing, and the plots well contained. Many of the tales are set in northern California. But there are excursions to Denmark (“Isle of Ven”), and Mexico (“The Search for J. Kruper”) and characters of all races, socioeconomic levels, and intellects to enliven the journey. And above all, readers are left with the blessing (Berriault died in 1999 shortly after this book won numerous national awards) of a very gifted writer’s ability to write smartly but without pretension. Consider this passage from “Sublime Child”, a story about loss and love involving a young woman and the lover her mother left behind:
She closed her eyes and was carried to his chair and down into his lap, and felt his legs trembling under her. The past year was bearing fruit, and they were at last, she thought, easing Alice’s concern for them both. But opening her eyes to see his face, wanting frantically to find his face familiar to her, familiar as it had been when it was more dear to Alice than to her-for only that earlier face could reassure her that everything was right-she saw only his dark head cradled on her breasts. The sight of herself lying like a babe-in-arms in the midst of his consuming figure shocked her into imagining that Carol was coming from the kitchen and saw her enfolded there, her thin legs dangling down. No, no, don’t make me be my mother, she begged him, but it was only whimpering, and frightened by her inability to speak, she struck him with her fists.
This is an author who doesn’t avoid sensuality or love or sex but discretely reveals such passion, along with other human emotions, like a very gifted exotic dancer. The display of skin is achingly slow. The pace is languid. And the tantalizing time it takes to come to comprehension bears great reward for the reader.
Masterful.
5 stars out of 5.
You can find out more about Ms. Berrault and her work at: http://www.nytimes.com/1999/07/23/arts/gina-berriault-73-an-author-of-deft-novels-and-short-stories.html.
Peace.
Mark
