RIGHT AFTER THE WEATHER
by Carol Anshaw
In her early 40s, Cate is tired of low-paying theater gigs, handouts from her parents, and a furtive affair with Dana, who will never leave her live-in girlfriend.
It’s also annoying that she can’t dislodge ex-husband Graham, just dumped by wife No. 3 from her spare bedroom and from his obsession with government surveillance—paranoia entirely justified, in his view, by Donald Trump’s recent election. Still, Cate seems on her way to better things; she’s dating well-heeled Maureen and lands a job designing an off-Broadway show for a high-powered writer-director team that could ratchet up her career. However, menacing interspersed sections voiced by Nathan, a sociopath living with drug addicted Irene, suggest danger ahead. It’s quickly evident that their crash pad is somewhere near Cate’s best friend Neale’s house, and as Nathan’s monologues grow increasingly creepier, we wait for a collision. Meanwhile, Anshaw (Carry the One, 2012, etc.) crafts an engaging narrative with her customary precision and tart humor: A blowsy, “recently pretty” character “appears to do most of her shopping at Renaissance fairs,” and parking enforcement in Chicago, “once a lazy, city-run revenue effort, has been sold off to a ruthless corporation based somewhere in the Middle East…meter readers in Day-Glo vests troll relentlessly, ubiquitously.” In a cast of richly drawn characters, Cate is foremost: oddly maladroit socially for a theater worker, madly in love with Graham’s dog, Sailor, prone to imagining people’s backstories (including the décor of their homes) in judgmental terms, but essentially kind. She’s totally unprepared for the brutal confrontation that occurs halfway through the novel, but she forges ahead with her big opportunity in New York, just the way people do in real life. Anshaw never amps up her fiction with melodrama or neat conclusions, and she leaves her characters changed but by no means finished in an indeterminate yet satisfying finale.
Another treat from the great Anshaw: sharply observed, unsentimentally compassionate, always cognizant of life’s complexities.