Published by Harper Perennial; Original on August 9, 2011
Tom's father (Curtis Violet) is an aging womanizer who just won the Pulitzer for a short story collection. Tom's mother (Maryanne) ended her own writing career years earlier, despite publishing an acclaimed book of stories that didn't sell, because she believed there couldn't be two writers in a family. Maryanne is taking a break from Gary, her second husband, having realized that she only married him because he wasn't Curtis. Tom has just finished writing a novel of his own, which his family members lack the time or desire to read.
Tom hates his copywriting job (he doesn't integrate well with coworkers who use words like "leverage" and "facilitate") and seems dead set against career advancement. His domestic life is no more satisfying than his work life. He's plagued by ED and he's "a little bit in love" with a beautiful young coworker named Katie. Although Tom nervously but politely snubs Katie when he runs into her while having dinner with his family at Johnny Rockets, neither his wife (Anna) nor his father believe his assurance that "there's nothing going on," and the snubbing doesn't endear him to Katie. Just as troubling is Tom's growing concern that Anna is involved with another man. In short, Tom feels inadequate: as a husband, as a son, as a father, and as a writer. Tom is unhappy ... until he does something at work that's either daring or stupid (or both) but in any event wickedly funny, an act of defiance that changes the course of his life.
These events probably don't sound terribly amusing, but domestic turmoil has nourished comedy at least since Shakespeare. Much of the humor in Domestic Violets could be faulted for being too obvious -- it's the routine stuff of comedy club monologues -- but I laugh at old jokes if they're well told, and this novel kept me grinning. A running joke that will appeal to readers is Curtis' rivalry with another acclaimed writer named Zuckerman -- "the most boring writer in America," according to Curtis. More literary laughter, this time bordering on slapstick, involves a brawl between Curtis and the fiction editor for The New Yorker.
While Matthew Norman bases the first two (of four) parts of Domestic Violets on humor, he tries to build emotional intensity in part three as Tom and Anna confront their fears and desires and, finally, each other. Their story isn't deep but it's utterly genuine. Part four increases the intensity and even becomes a little vicious. Characters are definitely not playing well together in the novel's last act, although the worst offenders are minor characters (perhaps too predictably, none of the likable characters become unlikable). Part four sacrifices laughs for drama, leading to a conclusion that, while not unsatisfying, is a little too cute. In fact, Tom seems to lead such a charmed life it was difficult for me to sustain belief in the story.
Those criticisms aside, there are reasons to recommend Domestic Violets. The novel has one of the best sex scenes (or "almost sex" scenes) I've encountered: it's passionate and absurd and tender, just like the real thing. There's a melancholy sweetness to this story that, combined with its hopefulness, serves as a reminder that we can all find our better natures if we make the effort -- and that when our better natures surface as the result of chance rather than intent, we should recognize and embrace them. Whether you do the right thing by accident or design, Tom comes to understand, what matters is that you do the right thing.
Neither Norman's serviceable prose style nor his unchallenging plot will win him a Pulitzer, but Domestic Violets is likely to earn Norman a fair number of satisfied readers. For me, the humor was more effective than the soapy drama, but the novel delivered enough laughs to earn my recommendation.
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