Saintly Intervention Can't Save The Mermaid Chair

Review by Breanne Boland May 5, 2005 Issue

Jessie Sullivan has felt uneasy in her life for the last few months. Her daughter has recently left for college, and her life with husband Hugh lacks something, but she can’t pinpoint what exactly is missing. She has hints – her art is neglected and uninspired – but her vague symptoms aren’t leading her to a solution. Her unrest blossoms when she’s called home to the tiny South Carolina island where she grew up. Her mother, never terribly stable following the early death of Jessie’s father more than 30 years ago, has finally crossed the line between neurosis and psychosis by cutting off her own finger.

Jessie returns home to take care of her, but ends up tending to herself more, particularly when she crosses paths with a young monk-to-be at the monastery next door. While unraveling the mystery of her mother’s self-mutilation, she comes unwound herself, with the help of her eccentric Aunt Kat, family friend Hepzibah, and psychic though slow cousin Benne, whose uncanny and uncannily timed revelations help move the story along. The Mermaid Chair details an episode in Jessie’s life, or her marriage; her conundrum lies in figuring out whether they’re indeed the same thing, and if that’s what she wants.

I wanted to like this book more because it seems so warm and earnest. I’d just finished a book where I felt very distant from all the characters, and this one appealed to me because of its first person narration. I felt like living in a character’s head for a while. Unfortunately, I never found a really good place to sit and watch. I’m usually bad at predicting how books and movies are going to end, but I guessed this one pretty early on.

This book was a quick read, but I think the story deserved more. As it is, it’s swell beach reading. The chapters are fairly short, and it’s easy to pick up and put down without getting lost. The setting is exotic and the characters are quirky, so there’s always some interesting detail to keep your attention.

However, the story revolves around a woman dissecting and reassembling her life, uncovering decades-old family mysteries, and figuring out her sense of self and home. Something that complicated shouldn’t be so easily quit and restarted; I wanted thick layers of subtle details I’d miss if I weren’t paying close enough attention, if I was foolish enough to let my mind wander, or to read in a place not built for concentration. I wanted a reward for the time I invested in the book. As it was, when I finished it, I just felt a sense of, “Well, yes, I suppose this is what might happen.” Hardly the enthusiasm you’d expect from a story about an island where the real and mystical mingle, where there’s romantic intrigue with a monk and crocodiles on the loose.

I think part of the problem is that little exists outside of the island. Jessie’s husband Hugh makes appearances, and even gets a chapter in his point of view, but he’s the only non-islander we get any sense of. Their daughter Dee is seen only through brief phone calls. Otherwise, we see none of Jessie’s life in Atlanta. Her struggle between her past and her present would’ve been much clearer if we’d seen her normal adult life with any detail. Jessie feels trapped, so maybe her life is confined to her house and her small family; however, it felt more like an oversight than an intentional omission.

The best part of this book is the slurred theology behind it – the saints, and the borderline-pagan way that they were connected to the water. Kidd’s half-created, half-researched theology made Catholicism interesting to me in a way that it never has been. We Protestants have saints, sure, but generally there are no former mermaids like Saint Senara, and they don’t have carved wooden chairs that act as a hotline to request otherworldly intervention. Kidd included a post-script where she explains which part of the book is real and what she invented or tailored to her needs; what she made up was the part of the book that did surprise me.

A story taking place on an eccentric, fictional island should feel fresh and unfamiliar, but the characters – a trio of wise, older southern women, a clairvoyant mentally-challenged woman – feel like people I’ve met before, and this familiarity feels out of place in a setting revered for and defined by its quirkiness. Consequently, the surroundings outshine the characters—the mermaid chair itself is a more complicated being than the walking, talking creatures that surround it.

Maybe I’ve read too much Anne Tyler recently. Maybe I’ve been spoiled for stories about domestically centered women who take a sharp turn away from their typical lives. The only thing I knew for certain was I didn’t believe in the power of the mermaid chair, because if Saint Senara’s powers were real, she wouldn’t have let this story of an extraordinary period in a woman’s life seem so commonplace.

The Mermaid’s Chair, Viking Press, 352 pages, available at retail booksellers and local libraries.

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