Commonwealth by Ann Patchett

Patchett, Ann. Commonwealth. New York: Harper, 2016

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I’m probably the only person on the planet who didn’t like and never finished Ann Patchett’s Bel Canto (I thought she’d introduced way too many characters from way too many varying backgrounds and cultures to be able to do any of them justice, and I just couldn’t really get into them). I’m someone who likes to give every author at least “2 dates”, though, before deciding there’s no chemistry, especially authors who have superb reputations, which Patchett does. This, her newest, looked interesting when it came into the library, so I decided to give it a try. All this is to say I was convinced I wouldn’t like it and could then be done with Ann Patchett.

I was so pleasantly surprised! Far from disliking it, I was hooked by page 3. These characters I could get into! The kids, when they were kids, were a bit brutal at times, but I loved the way she laid out the complexities of being a member of what we now call a “blended family”. I also liked the way she understood that when push came to shove, it was kids against the adults, which is how it was when I was growing up (in the same era). I’m not so sure that happens today, with adults hovering so much over children and wanting to be so much a part of everything they do. Long gone are the summer days when kids just left the house in the morning, without any adult supervision, and only came home to eat. Then again, this book could be seen as a cautionary tale when it comes to giving children too much freedom.

I liked the way Patchett explores the life of a writer here (and I’ve since read this is one of her most autobiographical works), as well as storytelling. Who has the right to tell a story? How many people have been deeply hurt over the years by finding their story told by someone else in a very public way? She really made me think about how careful or callous a writer can be, made me think about people who’ve said things to me like, “I could never write a novel about family unless all my family members were dead, because it would hurt them too much.” I imagine, sometimes, writers might want awful people to understand how despicable they are and to recognize themselves as characters in a book, but they’d have to be very subtle, which means the awful people might not recognize themselves at all. Also, there’s that tricky question of who gets to define awful people and how.

This was also a story about love, about every kind of love and what it is. A young woman falls in love with an older man. Does he really love her, or is he just using her? Is sibling loyalty an indication of sibling love? Are some people so selfish, they’re incapable of loving anyone, destined to break numerous hearts? Do some parents find their children to be nuisances more than they love them? Do parents have “favorites”, even though all parents claim they don’t? Are the “unfavorites” destined to be their parents’ caretakers in the end, desperately hoping for a little piece of the love they felt they never got?

See? She raises so many good questions. She doesn’t answer them, but she does make you think. I liked this book so much, I guess I need to go on a third date with Patchett to find out if the chemistry is merely a fleeting thing or real love.