I read half of The Dutch House on a Saturday evening and the second half on Sunday. The story was that good, the characters that interesting, the choices they made that captivating. I didn’t want to set it down. I just had to know how things were going to turn out, both for the characters I liked and those I detested. Here are a few thoughts that arose in my mind during the reading of this book (for my book club).
When Mauve told her father “You didn’t ask me,” I stopped reading and reread it. And then I read it again. You know, that was the father’s problem. He did things for others and with others without asking them if they wanted to do it in the first place. I didn’t see him ask someone what they wanted, nor of-fer anyone choices between different options. He just directed things as they pertained to his own life path, as if he was al-ways in charge. Like buying the house and presenting it as a gift or magnum opus for his wife to just accept, with no say in the selection as modern couples do. That was just dumb. Sure, it was romantic, but come on. Really? The old days with husbands or fathers deciding, instead of seeing life as a journey with a partner, is just thoughtless to me. I find it hard to understand.
So, I liked Danny. This was his story to tell, though I still wonder if this was a story of a person or a house. Let’s see. Danny points out that he was asleep to the world, as a child and young adult and husband. How about as a passenger, or student, or brother, or father? I wonder.
There was so much that Danny didn’t see, didn’t ask about, wasn’t curious about. Easily seen things that he was just oblivious to. It doesn’t mean that he was stupid or self-centered, but he just didn’t look at things from someone else’s perspective. He lived life and didn’t question things or see things from other people’s point of view.
I blame the father. Danny wasn’t allowed or didn’t know how to talk about women (his mother, sister, stepmother) with his father. How is it that a father (Cyril) could raise a son (Danny) and not give him opportunities to develop a skill at analyzing and talking about the opposite sex? That is just bad parenting. The father is supposed to be developing his son’s mind and preparing him for the future, one in which most sons marry someone and need to understand how to talk with (and dis-agree/argue with) them. He didn’t, and I fault him for that.
Of course, the father did impart one useful life trick: “The things we could do nothing about were best put out of your mind.” I like that and try to live by that motto myself. Focus on the things you can change. And, somehow he learned that “You had to touch a hot stove only once.” So true! How many times have I seen someone act in a stupid way, and told myself that they’d never be more than an acquaintance to me, not a friend, not someone I’d choose to hang out with. How did I learn that? And from whom? I don’t know. Not my father.
One thing did bother me, though. Danny seemed to re-member many times when his stepmother was kind to him, but he focused too much energy on the times when she wasn’t. He knew that this was not smart or productive, but he did it any-ways. Sure, that is typical of people, forgetting the good and remembering (and focusing on) the bad. It is why kids blame their parents for their own life’s failings and shortcomings.
I can’t help it, but certain elements of this story made me think of my own life. I can connect with not having friends come over as a child. Norma and Bright didn’t have visitors, just as Danny and Mauve didn’t have friends over. No one to spend the night, or pretend with, or to run around with in the backyard, or to play hide-and-seek with. So lonely, only adults to communicate with, who seemed to be busy managing life and not imagining life (as kids often do). And when I found out that Kevin loved butterscotch Lifesavers, I smiled, because that is the one flavor I loved as a child. Loved! I have such fond memories of getting it from my grandma (though I didn’t like cherry). Did I tell others this? I don’t think so. I wasn’t allowed to ask for stuff, or encouraged to talk about what made me happy. Again, it’s the life my parents lived, and their choices that I now reflect on. Having a mother who is already dead and a father who will never read what I write, well, I am just talking to myself. And getting married on a sweltering hot July day. Yep, I did that too. It was 108 degrees on my wedding day, outdoors, with lots of family and a few friends sweltering in the heat. And when the father died at age fifty-three, it struck a chord with me, as I am fifty-three right now. No, I don’t expect to die this year. I am in excellent shape and wouldn’t even breathe heavily from climbing three flights of stairs. And being the iron in Monopoly. That was me as a child, every time. I always wanted to be the iron. No one else wanted it. It wasn’t sexy or cool, but I liked it, and how flat it was, and how it couldn’t fall over. And I could slide it. I enjoyed these moments, when my life and the life of the characters in this novel crossed paths.
I hated the step-mother for so many reasons, from the earliest moments and almost to the very end. Like, when Sandy and Jocelyn weren’t given the day off to attend the funeral service, but were instead required to work in the kitchen. I was angry. How self-centered and thoughtless of a person this stepmother was. I wonder, did she even ask them if they wanted to help out or not? I doubt it. She constantly bossed people around, both kids and adults, exerting power over others in order to get what she wanted in life. Such a horrible per-son. She got what she deserved. One of her daughters refused to come see her, moving far away, while the other dropped everything and came to her aide in the final years. Would I, if I were that child? Would I quit my job and leave behind my friends, and subject myself to such drudgery for a person who is a self-centered person? Well, I don’t think that this daughter saw her mother in that way. She was loved and got whatever she wanted, so she and I aren’t viewing things from the same place. I’d probably be that other child, living far away.
When Danny realized that he had limited real world coping skills because his father had protected him from what the world was capable of, I started thinking about myself. In what way did my father do the same, hiding reality from me, failing to give me coping skills for what life would surely throw at me. Did my own failures in life arise because I wasn’t given the tools as a child and young adult, and no guidance or support system as an adult, no one to talk to, no trusted advisor. I find it ironic that my father advises other people, other couples, and yet he would have been the last person I would ever have consulted on anything in life. I still don’t call him for advice. Ever. I can’t help but wonder if he knows this. It should be normal for a child to trust the opinion and guidance of their parent. I don’t.
When Mauve in anger told Danny that the new family had “stolen from us,” I hit the mental pause button. Us? Really? In my mind, the one who did the work and bought the home was the father. He owned the house and its contents, not the kids who lived off of his generosity. When he died, it made sense that everything went to the wife (their stepmother). These two (a young adult and a teenager) mistakenly thought that the house should be theirs. Nope. That’s not how it works. They didn’t work for it or marry someone who had. This expectation that kids have, that their parents’ stuff is their stuff, is just wrong. Sure, you share. And you don’t kick a child out into the street (or to live with his sister). But the step-mother had the right to keep everything in the house.
Danny mused about life, his own life, and his wife’s (Celeste), asking whether it really belonged to you, or to your parents and their expectations and hopes. Does a parent have that right, even if they paid for a child’s education, or paid for a car, or helped with a down payment? Do they own that child’s future? I think that kids feel obligated, like they owe their parents after so much is invested in them. But where do you stop here? Where does obligation end and freedom of choice begin? I remember when my father’s expectations of me clashed with my own vision of the future. An ultimatum ended with me walking away from my family, saying goodbye and living on my own. It was painful, but I felt that my life was my own, not only because I was paying for everything I did, but be-cause it was mine to live as I saw fit. They had their chance when they (actually, my father) were my age. I wasn’t using their money to fund my college. I was working while at school, paying for my education entirely on my own, so they didn’t have the right to tell me what to do or how to live my life. Or so I thought.
I still dislike the stepmother, Andrea. I can’t see why the father married her in the first place, unless he was truly desperate. Danny wonders this too, and comes to the conclusion that his father must have just been tired of being alone. I think that he was actually unable to finish raising kids alone and manage the house. He wanted someone else to do the job. And he wanted to release some of the burden from the oldest child, Mauve.
But what about the mother? It still shocks me that neither child looked for their mother once they became adults. I hear of kids doing that, searching for a parent who abandoned them in childhood, reconnecting. Danny and Mauve weren’t told that their mother was dead, just crazy (by the father). Didn’t they question that, or want to find out more? And the whole keeping it a secret from his sister. Why would Danny do that after talking with Fluffy? He didn’t have that right. Just like the father who made decisions for others without consulting them. Like father, like son.
I liked it when Mauve justified her life by saying “I like my job.” Just as she liked her house, and liked her solitude, and liked smoking, and liked checking up on the old house and its occupants. No one had the right to tell her that she wasn’t happy. I connected to this in my own life, as I like my life. When a “friend” tries to get me to do something, thinking that this new event or whatever will make me happy, I just shake my head and move on. I am happy. I don’t want other people to try to “fix” me. I am happy as I am.
When Mauve pointed out that she had to choose between feeling angry and bitter or feeling happy and lucky, I liked that. Too often I choose to feel the misery, to relive the past and dwell on how painful an event was instead of just moving on and living in the moment. I think that we all do that. “There is a finite amount of time.” So true! So true. It is stupid to feel anger over something that is now in the past. It makes sense to focus on the present and get the most pleasure out of what it has to offer.
I am still kinda annoyed with the mother. She left. But, I know that she was also forced out, by the father, given an ultimatum. Man, what was so wrong with this couple and their life, and their inability to talk it out, or to change course? I must be careful not to superimpose modern ways of coupling with a time in the past, but I can’t help it. It is who I am today. I still remember the early part of the book talking about the past, and how we can never see it as it was because we’re too influenced by the present. So true. I did like how the mother served those who needed to be served, and didn’t just help the ones who make her feel good about herself. It is something to think about, holding both thoughts together in your mind: abandoning the family and helping others. Most people must choose one or the other, to understand her suffering or to blame her for her life path. I think it is wiser to hold both ideas simultaneously, and allow them to exist together.
In conclusion, I still wonder about that house. So much in this story is centered around the house. From the beginning until the end, it was a center piece of the story, defining people and the choices they made, mentioned, described, connected. It was both an empty shell in need of people and a house filled with noise. It was both a hive of pain for some and a place of comfort for others. It was a place to hate as well as a place so longingly remembered. Two opposing ideas held at the same time. I found it pleasing to see the house go from a party place before the family moved in for adults, surviving kids, those kids having kids of their own, and then being bought by a kid who reached adulthood and turning it again into a place for parties. turning back into a party place. The house is happy again, filled with a purpose and no longer lonely. I liked the house from the start, and thought how cool it would be to live there.
If you want to read a fun book, then this is one you should buy. I did, and I am glad for the experience.
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The Dutch House: A Novel
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Fans of sweeping family sagas, The Dutch House is for you!
Ann Patchett has long been a master of the modern family saga, and her latest novel, The Dutch House, is no exception. I enjoy Patchett’s writing immensely because she always seems to be able to make an ordinary life extraordinary. Most people will not live a whirlwind life of fame and fortune; instead we will live relatively “normal” and, at times, somewhat boring lives. Patchett doesn’t write for the famous or for the rugged adventurers – she writes for and about ordinary people, and she does it with ease and grace. In The Dutch House, we readers are transported into the world of Danny and Maeve Conroy, two siblings with an unbreakable bond whose lives are also marred by tragedy. The Conroy family lives in an enormous mansion in Elkins Park, Pennsylvania (a suburb of Philadelphia) referred to as the Dutch House in homage to its original owners, the now-deceased VanHoebeeks. Early in the novel, ten-year-old Maeve and three-year-old Danny are abandoned by their mother Elna, a woman who has no other ambition in life than to help the poor and who, in consequence, cannot stand living in the opulent Dutch House. Elna’s departure leaves the door open for the patriarch of the family, Cyril, to remarry. His unfortunate choice of taking a young woman named Andrea as his second wife, and his untimely death when Danny (our narrator) is only a teenager, will ultimately lead to the expulsion of the Conroy children from the fairytale Dutch House and will alter the course of their lives forever. One of my favorite parts of reading this book was coming to truly love Danny and Maeve and to care about what was happening in their lives over the course of the five decades the book encompasses. As much as I loved the siblings, I despised their stepmother Andrea with a passion. The ability of an author to make us feel for the characters is crucial to the enjoyment and success of a story, and Patchett certainly doesn’t disappoint here. Because of her detailed, compelling, and heartfelt writing I felt completely immersed in the lives of the Conroys and savored each detail, from the reason for failed and strained relationships down to the story of the painting of Maeve as a young girl – the very painting which graces the cover of the novel. If you are a fan of Ann Patchett or of sweeping family sagas, give this wonderful book a read.
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