A Star is Torn: Rewind the Music

Jennifer Weiner is a virtuoso at writing women.  Our dreams, our insecurities, and our obstacles.  And the way we're trapped into fighting each other when it's men who make the rules.  Her latest novel, The Griffin Sisters' Greatest Hits, spotlights what it means to be a woman -- and a sister -- amid the grit and glam of the music industry.

The Grossberg sisters are an unlikely pair.  Pretty, popular Zoe was born to perform, but her singing is mediocre.  Overweight outcast Cassie is a piano prodigy with a golden voice, but she's awkward to the point of near muteness.  Zoe is jealous of Cassie's talent, and Cassie wants to be "normal" like Zoe.  Zoe is mean, manipulative, and sometimes cruel.  Nevertheless, per their mother, she serves as Cassie's protector and tour guide in navigating an unkind and confusing world.

One night, Zoe strongarms Cassie into performing at a local battle of the bands.  A record label exec's nephew's in the audience, and before they know it, they're the Griffin Sisters, the hottest new band of the aughts.  At their epicenter is singer-songwriter Russell D'Angelo, the sensitive yet flawed young man who changes their lives.

Star-studded, heart-wrenching, and poignant, The Griffin Sisters' Greatest Hits is riveting.  Weiner alternates between Cassie's and Zoe's voices, going back and forth in time to tell a story of emotional depth and nostalgia.  Cassie and Zoe -- but especially Cassie -- are complexly drawn and speak to women of all ages.  

Because whether you're "just a pretty face," "different," or somewhere in between, the struggle to be heard is timeless.

The Road Less Traveled: Free Wheel Feels

Breaking away from the norm.

Breaking away from expectations.

Breaking away from unhappiness.

In other words, freedom.

That's what Abby Stern feels every time she gets on her bike.  And Jennifer Weiner's The Breakaway is all about Abby's journey.  At thirty-three, she's a fat camp survivor still trying to figure life out.  And that includes Mark, her fat camp boyfriend who's reentered her life.  Always sweet and caring, he's now also sculpted and svelte -- albeit at the cost of of never, ever eating carbs.  So what if he doesn't know how to ride a bike and gives still-fat Abby the subtle side-eye whenever she reaches for pasta or pastry?  He's a doctor and the only man she knows who will take on a plus-size plus one.  Or so Abby thinks until she meets Sebastian, a hunky and thoughtful writer in bro's clothing.  

So when Abby leads her first-ever bike tour for the Breakaway company and discovers that Sebastian as well as her perfectly groomed and judgmental mother are -- surprise! -- on the roster, she knows that it'll be a ride to remember.  And when she learns that some of the other cyclists have stirring stories of their own, things take another path entirely.  Yet one thing's for sure.  These mothers and daughters and lovers and others have a lot to learn about each other -- and themselves.

In The Breakaway, Weiner takes us on an unforgettable trip through upstate New York, pairing richly layered and relatable characters with the timely and timeless theme of women's rights in what may be her best book to date. 

Because treating each other with kindness should be just as easy as riding a bike. 

A Passion for Fashion and Family

You know that I loved Jennifer Weiner's novels Big Summer and That Summer.  So of course I was looking forward to the third installment in this not-quite-a-trilogy tribute to the most wonderful time of the year (sorry not sorry, Andy Williams).  Even if some of the things that happen are more sun-streaked sad than beach read.  This last book, The Summer Place, is no different, a bittersweet family drama about the road not taken.  Each of Weiner's characters comes to a crossroads, forced to choose and then wonder what might have been.  Their destinies are intertwined in peculiar yet believable ways, creating the kind of irresistible suspense that makes this novel such a page turner.  Yet it's a passage about almost-concert-pianist-turned-music-teacher Sarah's love for -- what else? -- clothes that I find most captivating:

"Sarah's job at the music school had no dress code.  If she'd wanted to, she could have worn jeans and blouses, or even T-shirts and sneakers to work.  But Sarah loved clothes.  She loved finding new boutiques and discovering new designers; she loved the feeling of buying the perfect azure-blue necklace to wear with a new navy-blue dress, and a pair of vintage leather riding boots to pull the look together.  Even the clothes she didn't wear made her happy.  She'd brush the sleeve of the pale-pink cashmere sweater she'd worn on her second date with Eli and feel, again, the first flush of infatuation; she'd flick past the black gown she'd worn for her last recital and feel a bittersweet pang.  She loved the challenge of putting together an outfit, searching out each individual piece, shopping her closet, combining old and new.  Getting dressed was its own kind of creativity, and it satisfied her in the same primal way she imagined gathering a perfect sheaf of wheat or an unblemished handful of berries might have delighted her hunting and gathering forebearers." (121)   

Weiner gets this exactly right, elevating Sarah's -- and women's -- passion for fashion to an artform.  It's as reverent as it is whimsical and sentimental.  The setup (which really, I should've started with) is that Sarah's husband Eli, who drives her crazy during quarantine, goes on a decluttering kick that involves tossing some of her most prized possessions, the things that make her feel like her.  Knowing this makes Sarah's wardrobe seem even more -- not to get all Narnia on you -- magical.    

Speaking of which, it's the magic of being true to oneself that ties the tie-dyed ribbons of The Summer Place together.  Even when, especially when, following one's heart leads to family conflicts.  Weiner shows us that having it all isn't possible -- but that having something, even it if it's just one thing -- that we truly love always is.    

Summer Stuns Before the Fall

Last night, long after John Mulaney's latest social commentary musical on SNL, I finished reading Jennifer Weiner's latest novel, That Summer.  If the title sounds familiar, then that's because Weiner's book before that was called Big Summer.  Although That Summer isn't its sequel, it does harbor an Easter egg.  

The book jacket doesn't say what it's really about, so maybe I shouldn't say either.  I will say that there are two strangers named Diana (although one goes by Daisy) who find out they share a disturbing bond.  What they decide to do about it will resonate with women everywhere.  

Here are two of my favorite quotes:

On Daisy.  Or rather, on what she thinks her daughter thinks of her:

"Worse, she suspected that Beatrice thought that cooking, cleaning, homemaking, all of what used to be called the domestic arts, were women's work.  A yoke that Daisy wore, of her own choosing, boundaries past which she did not stray; all of it part of a world that Beatrice and her generation had evolved beyond." (80)

On Diana.  Or rather, on what she thinks her coworkers think of her:

"She was sure her colleagues were engaging in some collective Baby Boom fantasy, where she was a bitchy, big-city ice queen who needed some salt-of-the-earth loving, maybe even a baby or three, to make her a woman again." (138)

Both women deal with female stereotypes that eat away at who they really are.  Just as both are victims of circumstances created by men.  Or, rather, by one man.  

To echo Michael Stipe, "Oh no, I've said too much.  I haven't said enough."

The end.

Big Summer Stunner: Mean Girls Gone Wild

I haven't read a Jennifer Weiner novel since In Her Shoes.  I did read Weiner's memoir, Hungry Heart, though, and I'm glad I did, because it explains so much about the pain of growing up, which is front and center in her latest novel, Big Summer.  Part mystery and part romance plus a commentary on social media, Big Summer's got a little bit of everything, making it a page turner.  Fluff and intrigue aside, though, its focus is female friendships.  And not just the Golden Girls-theme-song-slash-going-out-for-strawberry-milkshakes part.  But the part about women building social hierarchies so that friend or foe becomes friend and foe, or, in the more popular parlance, "frenemy."  Which is to say, friendship can be war.

In Big Summer, the brave warrior is Daphne Berg, a fat fashionista and social influencer who was always picked on in school.  Fat is Daphne's word, not mine.  She prefers it to euphemisms like plus-sized and Rubenesque, and I don't blame her.  Despite promoting yoga mats and doggie treats on Instagram, what Daphne really wants is to feel less alone and to help other people feel that way too.  Back in the day, Daphne became best friends with this rich, popular girl named Drue Cavanaugh.  Drew made Daphne's life miserable but was, as all queen bees are, a blast.  Inevitably, they had a falling out in college.  They don't speak again until five years later when a desperate Drue asks Daphne to be her maid of honor.  And that's when the true battle begins.   

Weiner's talent for describing the social dynamics of girl world is what makes her such a powerful writer.  She shares Daphne's trials in a way that's real and raw.  Reading about them sent me right back to my own school cafeteria and its swirling sea of piranhas.  Although I wasn't fat (just a bookworm in weird clothes), I know exactly what it feels like not to fit in, and I'm sure a lot of you do too.  Reliving it isn't pleasant for any of us.  But it's important that Weiner explores it in this book and others.  Because if she helps even one kid -- or adult -- work through her hurt in a constructive way and feel, as Weiner says, "seen," then it's worth it.  

To that point, in Big Summer, there's one woman who hasn't worked through anything.  Unable to let go of her past, her anger consumes her, ruining her life and the lives of others. Which is a cautionary tale if ever there was one.  Because two wrongs don't make a right, and queen bees are people too.  Remember Regina George (Rachel McAdams) in Mean Girls?  Bitch though she was, she had a heart underneath it all and stopped being mean once she channeled her rage through field hockey.  Which is about the only time I can get behind sports, but if it makes the world a kinder and gentler place, then I wholeheartedly shout, "Go team!".     

That said, Big Summer's message isn't tidy, is even, at times, contradictory.  But that makes it even more relevant.  Because life is messy.  So to my way of thinking, the book's message goes something like this: To have a friend, you have to be a friend.  But keep your friends close and your frenemies closer.  Protect yourself, but don't become so suspicious that you grow bitter.  Be grateful for what you have because, chances are, they're the very things that make other girls jealous of you.  Most importantly, revenge is a dish best not served at all.  It's better to serve yourself whatever you want, extra pounds and Internet trolls be damned.

I guess that's how you win the war.  Or at least survive the mystery meat in the mess hall.