Ian always does this to me. |
I
was flipping television channels, not seeing anything that especially interested
me, when I was fortunate enough to catch the second half of Saint Maybe.
Saint
Maybe the movie is based on the novel of the same name, written by Anne Tyler.
I’d seen the movie before, and I’d read the book twice, so I knew I’d be crying
in about a minute.
The
novel tells the story of the Bedloes, with a focus on Ian Bedloe. Ian is in
college and has his whole life ahead of him. But then his older brother dies in
an accident, and Ian feels responsible. So when Lucy, his brother’s wife, dies
not long after, Ian decides to put his plans aside and raise his brother’s
three young children, hoping to atone for his misdeeds in the process. Two of
the children are from Lucy’s first marriage and technically aren’t related to the
Bedloes at all, but that doesn’t matter to Ian.
The
story spans several years, during which we see the familial bonds grow and deepen
with Ian’s sacrifice. Like all sacrifices, Ian’s is not without cost. The
youngest child is well into her teens, and Ian has never married or fathered
children of his own. All the kids, who love Ian dearly, are worried that he’ll
always be alone. After a failed match-making episode, Agatha, the oldest daughter
(who’s now a doctor) says wistfully and a little angrily, “I just want him to
have a full life.” But that’s the question, right? Who’s to say that a life
spent selflessly serving others isn’t full? That carefully and devotedly raising
someone else’s children can’t be as satisfying as raising your own biological
ones? Ian’s unwavering dedication to the children, and their love for him, affect
me so profoundly I swear I should hire a therapist to have a chat about it. But
I won’t.
I
began reading Tyler years ago after purchasing an anthology of her novels by mistake.
A friend had recommended some other Anne, and I got it mixed up. That turned
out to be one of the happiest accidents of my (literary) life. Tyler’s books
are beautiful, gentle, thoughtful stories of family in all its complexity. (I’d
bet money that Tyler is an introvert.)
Another
of my favorite Tyler novels is Ladder of
Years, in which a married woman with three almost-grown children decides to
do what many married women (including me) have fantasized about—walk out the
door and never come back. During one family beach vacation, Delia’s casual
stroll becomes a segue into a brand new life of quiet discovery. The reader
should be scandalized, but Tyler wins our sympathy for Delia, whose family
contacts the police but then can’t give an accurate physical description,
remembering neither Delia’s eye color nor her height. She’s become no more than
a shadow in the background of their lives, and it’s not good enough. Tyler is a
class act, and I’m never disappointed. In the hands of another author, a story
like this could easily have deteriorated into something sordid, but we don’t
have to worry about that when Tyler is at the wheel.
Watching Saint Maybe reminds me that Tyler has written a few novels I haven’t read, and I need to catch up. I
should go ahead and get started on that. See ya'll!
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