“Life Without Children”
by Roddy Doyle
from the October 19, 2020 issue of The New Yorker
Roddy Doyle returns to The New Yorker fiction section with a story that does not appear to be based on any current event, unlike “Ash” in 2010 and “The Curfew” in 2019. Here is how “Life Without Children” begins:
Once, years ago, when the children were children, someone had asked Alan if he had any — children. And he’d said no.
He hadn’t expected to say it; it hadn’t been part of a plan. It wasn’t a woman he was talking to. It wasn’t the possibility of sex that had pushed him to say it. He remembered it as a choice, a junction, yes or no. And — just the once — he’d gone for no, and for the rest of the evening he’d been a man with no children.
I’ve read some more of the story, and let me just say that this doesn’t look like a cheery story! Not only does the man when he ages seem to have no relationship with his children but he also considers himself a bachelor and his wife a spinster. Who knows — maybe it will end up being a bit more affirming of this man’s relationships than it starts.
I look forward to seeing your thoughts!
This is a relatable theme — wanting to break out of quotidian life, away from family and all ties. The urge is first exemplified by the narrator’s memory of a time when he impulsively told someone at a party that had no children and he recalls how that felt. The urge is rekindled by seeing 2 groups of women out on the town. Perhaps these women wouldn’t connect with his wanderlust, except that this is COVID time, and simply being out getting drunk without a mask in close quarters risks danger.
Also he is away from home and in a city that has not yet adopted restrictions.
So we are given a narrator who comes across as wimpy and insecure who feels like he wants an adventure but can’t quite scrape up the cojones to take off. He wanders up and down the town, never out of sight of his hotel, trying to decide where to go in for a beer. In an act of bravado he discards his phone in a Dumpster. Who-ee! Breakin’ away!
Finally he decides to go back to his hotel. Phew! Close call. However, I saw no reason why he made up his mind that way. In structural terms, there was no critical incident that started the plot on a downward trajectory.
Ann Tyler wrote a novel (maybe “Ladder of Years”) In which a woman on vacation with her family at the shore simply walks away and starts another life. It’s nicely done. Doyle should read it.
This story was so lame I didn’t even bother to comment when I saw no one had. Now that someone has, I’m confirmed in my opinion. Putting this up next to Sittenfield and (especially) Joy Williams seems almost cruel.