I’ve been intrigued by Where’d You Go, Bernadette for some time. I kept seeing it on shelves and in book reviews and most people talked about it with gusto. But something about what I felt of its tone — its cover, perhaps? — put me off. Then Where’d You Go, Bernadette (2012) was recently named a finalist for the Women’s Prize, yet another endorsement that kept me wondering if I was missing something. The tipping point came, though, when I heard that Maria Semple was a writer on the television show Arrested Development. I went to the library immediately.

Bernadette

When the novel begins, fifteen-year-old Bee tells us that her mother disappeared — most likely ran away — two days before Christmas and hasn’t been seen since. Her father, Elgin, annoyingly tells her it isn’t her fault. She’s not dumb; she knows that already. She also knows that her mother would never simply abandon her, so she’s on a quest to find her.

Part of this quest involves sifting through the clues left from the few months before Bernadette disappeared. Much of the novel, then, is a compilation of found objects — emails, blog posts, text messages, bills, police reports, even a transcription of a TED talk — pasted together to form a narrative.

Indeed, the novel begins with Bee’s report card. She’s superior in every way. Years earlier, her parents told her that if she performed well, she could choose anything she wanted. So she springs it on them with the report card: she wants the family to go to Antarctica over Christmas.

Emails from Bernadette to Manjula Kapoor, an Indian woman who works as a sort of outsourced concierge service Bernadette uses for every little thing, serve as our window into the mind of the woman who has disappeared. We learn that Bernadette is full of wit and charm but is an agoraphobic. She does go out, usually to go places with Bee (I was genuinely touched by her affection for and dedication to her daughter, despite her affliction), but for twenty years or so she hasn’t involved herself in society. Instead, she spends her days in their gigantic home on the hill, an old school for girls, that is falling apart around them (the metaphors are not subtle, and, sadly, despite that Semple often spells them out). The other parents at Bee’s progressive (and parentally invasive) school hate Bernadette.

Enter: Audrey Griffin, Bernadette’s aggressively passive-agressive neighbor down the hill. Audrey is a busy-body who complains constantly and passes all blame onto others. She’s repulsive, going so far as to involve Bee in her petty spats with Bernadette, an agressively passive woman who refuses to engage. Here’s a particularly loathsome, though typical, conversation Audrey has with Bee:

“I hear you’re going to boarding school,” she said. “Whose idea was that?” 

“Mine,” I said.

“I could never send Kyle to boarding school,” Audrey said.

“I guess you love Kyle more than my mom loves me,” I said, and played my flute as I skipped down the hall.

You can see by her response at the end that Bee has no doubts whatsoever about her mother’s affections.

At about this time, we learn that Bernadette used to be an esteemed architect, one of the only women architects to be mentioned in the same breath as the big men in the field. She was “green before there was green,” constructing her famous “20 Mile House” only out of materials that originated with a 20-mile radius. Nothing could be shipped in. Nothing could be wasted. She was a big deal and won a Guggenheim. But something happened twenty years ago that caused her and Elgin to uproot themselves from Los Angeles and move to Seattle, where she’s remained in hiding.

In that introduction, I’m sure I’ve failed to show just how funny this novel is. The plot is absurd but air-tight — nothing is wasted while we work our way from Seattle to, eventually, Antarctica, with plenty of hijinks in between as Bernadette navigates the upper-crust of Seattle with increasing exasperation. When she reaches out to one of her old colleagues, Bernadette says, “I’ve been resolving the conflict between public and private space in the single-family residence.”

I found the concept of the book admirable. A book constructed from found materials, matching a house made from found materials, all to underscore a family in pieces that need to be put together again. Indeed, to be put together again by shedding all the fluff, even if that means going to a place so free from the world as Antarctica.

Still, though I admired much about this book, at about 1/3 of the way through I was anxious to move on. As cleverly structured as it is, we see the devices used to construct it from a mile away. The lengthy emails to Manjula do serve an important plot point, but they are exploited to give the readers Bernadette’s thoughts, she being unavailable. These emails themselves are plotted, digressing to give us a lengthy description of the Seattle sky, allowing us to suck it all in, before moving on to what usually amounts to a punchline. We need to suspend disbelief. All of that is fine and understandable. This novel’s goal is not realism, and that’s no fault, but I do tire quickly when I see the author working so hard to direct me emotionally.

Such manipulation is more grievous from my perspective when the characters themselves are exploited to score emotional points. Several of the characters change drastically during the course of the novel — drastically, suddenly, sentimentally. A few of them come to sudden realizations about how foolish they’ve been — sometimes the lights go on and they see how blindly foolish they were just seconds before — within one paragraph. They hammer hard, meanly, on something, and then, when the damage is done, they shift sides; all of this is to make what immediately follow more tragic or more sentimental.

I also had problems with the comedy. First, I did like some of it: á la P.G. Wodehouse, Semple does a great job bringing in something that was seemingly innocuous from a chapter or two ago to great and unexpected comedy. But much of the comedy relies on snarky observations — wittily plotted to maximize irony — from Bernadette, Bee, and Audrey. It’s Seinfeldian. It’s funny. It gets so tiring.

Where’d You Go, Bernadette is a satire with heart. For me, too much of each, in fact. I felt that Semple meddled too much to get us to laugh or cry. Perhaps such things work best on television.

Liked it? Take a second to support The Mookse and the Gripes on Patreon!
By |2013-04-26T12:53:21-04:00April 26th, 2013|Categories: Maria Semple|10 Comments

10 Comments

  1. norty April 26, 2013 at 4:11 pm

    I agree, humor was too forced and I gave up after more than a few pages.

  2. Will April 27, 2013 at 10:32 am

    I agree, although I may have liked it a little more than you did. I read it before the hype, before the Women’s Prize, approaching it with no expectations, only imagining a little light entertainment. It succeeded for me on that front – a little comic romp. I was entertained, but I certainly didn’t expect it to land on any literary prize shortlists. I imagine I would have been more critical and have enjoyed it less if I had approached it from that angle, my expectations would have been much higher.

  3. Max Cairnduff April 28, 2013 at 9:19 am

    I have a dislike of novels which set automatons in motion and then expect us to admire the drama that results when they collide (I’m thinking Wuthering Heights, I admit). This doesn’t sound that bad, but it doesn’t sound a mile away from that either.

    The thing is it’s easy for a novelist to make characters passionate, or conflicted, or whatever but just saying they are and setting them in motion isn’t interesting. In a naturalist novel acts need to flow from (and arguably reveal) character, creating character just to get a certain result obviously works but tends to feel artificial.

    Not sure I’ve put that as clearly as I might. Oh well.

  4. Søren Brinch Vestergaard April 29, 2013 at 8:15 am

    I absolutely loved this book – for me it’s proof that it’s possible to push the novel further all the time, that experience in writing for tv is tremendously refreshing if skillfully added to a novel and that it’s ok to be funny even if you have an existential depth.

  5. Trevor April 29, 2013 at 11:40 am

    …sputter… Max! Wuthering Heights is light years away from this book!

  6. Trevor April 29, 2013 at 11:42 am

    Søren, I’m afraid I can’t see where this is particularly innovative or existential. I’m happy to hear arguments that it is, though!

  7. Max Cairnduff April 29, 2013 at 11:44 am

    It was more a comment on overly manipulative novels Trevor, than direct similarities.

  8. Trevor April 29, 2013 at 12:05 pm

    I gotcha, Max ;-) .

  9. winstonsdad April 30, 2013 at 11:48 am

    I was sent this by uk publisher ,I m not a huge fan of arrested devolpment as I don’t watch much tv these days ,I like concept of this novel it seems clever but not sure if and when I will read it ,all the best stu

  10. Gina Oliveira May 1, 2013 at 7:35 pm

    If you don’t watch much TV these days, why propagate a phrase such as “arrested development” that embodies sit-com vernacular?

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.