Catherine groped blindly. The reins whipped in the wind, but she found them, took them in her hands. The carriage rocked in the pitted field, but she held on. Her foolish cloak was streaming in the wind, choking her, and she ripped it from her neck and it flew out behind, a momentary ghost in the swirling snow.
She knew enough to let the horses run. She knew enough to hope in their natural instincts. Her strength was no match for the terror she felt pulsing from the horses' black rumps. She held on. She did the only thing she could.
The horses raced on in a frenzy. They galloped down a small bank, skimmed onto the frozen river, the carriage arcing dangerously, so that the horses were spun in a circle, leaving crazy black trails on the powdered ice, really frightened now, aware, suddenly, of how far they were from safety. One of the horses slipped, lost its footing and collapsed onto the ice, which cracked and shimmered but held. Catherine sat mute with fear, with the idea of death in the frigid water, drowning, tangled in dying horses.
The river held.
-A Reliable Wife
In the interview with author Robert Goolrick included in my edition of A Reliable Wife, he states, "These characters are not good people. They have lived mistaken and cruel lives, done despicable things."
He's speaking of Ralph Truitt, for one, a wealthy man of industry living in rural Wisconsin just after the turn of the century. As a young man, Ralph reveled in luxury, first in the city and later abroad, spending his father's money on the finest of everything: wines, wares, and women. His first marriage ended tragically, and he's spent twenty years in sober, gut-wrenching loneliness. He places a discreet ad in the newspaper, in search of the titular reliable wife.
The ad brings Catherine Land to him. Catherine has known her fair share of debauchery as well, but she's left that life behind her. She tells Ralph that she is a missionary's daughter. It's not remotely the truth, but it's the part she's chosen to play. Catherine has a plan, you see, a plan that hinges on an absolute semblance of propriety. That, and a tiny blue bottle of arsenic.
Goolrick slowly reveals what drives these characters: the man haunted by his past and terrified by the prospect of his eternal damnation; the woman who has gotten more that she could have ever imagined, and yet is not quite done. They do things that it's incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to sympathize with. Yet they remain vulnerable and, despite their behavior, Goolrick keeps the reader from turning on his flawed, struggling characters. I've certainly read stories with characters to whom I could relate far better, but I never ended up disliking Ralph or Catherine, even when I stopped understanding them.
In the same interview I mentioned above, Goolrick mentions his interest in following the characters' chances of redemption. I certainly can understand his interest, but I find it somewhat hard to reconcile with the melodramatic denouement. Still, the book was interesting enough that I couldn't help but mentally cast a potential movie while I was reading. I never came up with a definitive cast, but the complicated characters and the cinematic nature of the book seem to ensure a film adaptation (indeed, Sony already has the rights). I'll be very intrigued to see how it comes out.
Next up: I'm thinking Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane.
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