The Books: “Bad Behavior” – ‘Heaven’ (Mary Gaitskill)

Daily Book Excerpt: Adult fiction

Bad Behavior: Stories – by Mary Gaitskill – a short story collection – Today’s excerpt is from the final story ‘Heaven’. This is more of a novella than a short story – and, to my mind, shows Gaitskill’s truly phenomenon wisdom and talent – It’s hard to believe that someone so young wrote this story. Unlike the other stories in the book, this one is from the point of view of a middle-aged woman, a wife and mother. Without ‘Heaven’, I don’t think the collection would be as startling as it is. I mean, the stories are all great … but then with ‘Heaven’ – it’s like Gaitskill is saying to the reader, “Okay. So after reading all that, you probably think you know me, right? You probably think you can predict my subject matter and what I will write about, right? Well, get a load of THIS.” It tells the story of one family – Virginia and Jarold are married, they have 4 kids – and ‘Heaven’ basically takes us through their whole life. I find it a supremely disorienting read. It’s like I don’t want to face certain things. Things like getting older, or loss, or things falling apart. I know that feeling of looking back at a certain time of my life – a time when I felt: wow, things are really coming together for me now!! – and looking back on it in wonder, and hurt – knowing the tough tough road that was ahead of me. Gaitskill, a young woman of 23, also gets into the head of a wife and mother, totally convincing. ‘Heaven’ spans decades. To have a young writer capable of expressing such a long view … that’s very rare.

I find ‘Heaven’ really painful. It makes me think of my parents. And family stuff. It makes me think of things I try not to look at. Stuff I find it easier to just ignore, in order to get through the day. gaitskill just strolls right in to those dangerous areas.

She knows life is all about loss, and grieving. You must keep going … and keep doing your best … but if you think anyone escapes this life unscathed, you’re an idiot. It’s not an easy story. With all of the other stuff in the book – the degradation, the rough sex, the S&M, the humiliation, the drugs – with all of that, I think ‘Heaven’ is the cruellest story. The one I find toughest to take.

EXCERPT FROM Bad Behavior: Stories – by Mary Gaitskill – ‘Heaven’.

“I want to marry Brian in a gypsy wedding,” said Magdalen. “I want to have it on the ridge behind the house. Our friends will make a circle around us and chant. I’ll be wearing a gown of raw silk and a light veil. And we’ll have a feast.”

“Does Brian want to marry you?” asked Virginia dryly.

Magdalen was seventeen. She had just returned home after a year’s absence. She carried a fat green knapsack on her back. Her feet were filthy. “I’m coming home to clear my head out,” she said.

She ate huge breakfasts with eggs and bacon, baked a lot of banana bread and lay around the den playing with tarot cards. Family life went on around her brooding, cross-legged frame. Her long blond hair hung in her face. She flitted around with annoying grace, her jeans swishing the floor, humming songs about ladies on islands.

After six months she “decided” to marry Brian, and went to Vancouver to tell him about it.

Virginia was glad to see her go. But, even when she was gone, insistent ghosts of Magdalen were everywhere: Magdalen at thirteen, sharp elbows on the breakfast table, slouching in an overlong cashmere sweater, her sulky lips ghoulish with thick white lipstick – “Mom, don’t be stupid, everybody wears it”; twelve-year-old Magdalen, radiant and triumphant, clutching an English paper graded triple A; Magdalen in the principal’s office, her bony white legs locked at the ankle, her head primly cocked — “You’ve got a bright little girl, Mrs. Heathrow. She should be moved at least one year ahead, possibly two”; Magdalen lazily pushing the cart at the A&P, wearing yellow terrycloth shorts and rubber sandals, her chin tilted and her green cat eyes cool as she noticed the stock boys staring at her; fifteen-year-old Magdalen, caught on the coach, her long limbs knotted up with those of a long-haired college freshman; Magdalen, silent at the dinner table, picking at her food, her fragile nostrils palpitating disdainfully; Magdalen acting like an idiot on drugs, clutching her mother’s legs and moaning, “Oh, David, David, please make love to me”; Magdalen in the psychiatrist’s office, her slow white fingers dropping cigarette ashes on the floor; Jarold, his mouth like a piece of barbed wire, dragging a howling Magdalen up the stairs by her hair while Charles and Daniel watched, embarrassed and stricken.

For years Magdalen had overshadowed two splendid boys and her sister, Camille. Camille sat still for years, quietly watching the gaudy spectacle of her older sister. Then Magdalen ran away and Camille emerged, a gracefully narrow-shouldered, long-legged girl who wore her light-brown hair in a high, dancing ponytail. She was full of energy. She liked to wear tailored blouses and skirts, but in home economics she made herself a green-and-yellow snakeskin jumpsuit, and paraded around the house in it. She delighted her mother with her comments: “When boys tell me I’m a prude, I say, ‘You’re absolutely right. I cultivate it.’ ” She was not particularly pretty, but her alert, candid gaze and visible intelligence made her more attractive than most pretty girls. When Virginia began to pay attention to Camille, she could not understand how she had allowed Magdalen to absorb her so completely. Still, there were ghosts.