Weather by Jenny Offill
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Almost the Blues

What the new world of literary America consists of perhaps: diary entries; the not quite aphorisms of a typical NYC life; the recording of trivia amidst cataclysmic events. There is obviously a selection of things to be noted/published. But there are no conclusions or points to be made. Whatever story there is is left to the reader’s imagination. Blanks are filled in and events connected by the same process that one unconsciously corrects errors and typos in print copy.

Weather is a sort of literary phenomenology, an attempt to present just what occurs to consciousness. In this case, the consciousness of a university librarian of middle-age, middle-income, middle-brow, and middle of the road politics during the election of Donald Trump. “Everything is happening much faster than expected,” says one of the bit-players. There is confusion and consternation; but life goes on.

It is only the various nutcases whom the librarian encounters who are concerned about ‘the big picture.’ “But what’s going to happen to the American weather?” one red-faced man cries. Another promotes the GOOD NEWS of some evangelical sect. A good friend and mentor is all about something to do with Native American rights (or is it environmental issues?) and needs help responding to the thousands of emails from her fans worried about every conceivable physical, environmental, and spiritual disaster. “Take care of your teeth,” the dotty neighbour warns. And life goes on.

Pressing issues nag from every side: how to spot a terrorist; emigration to Israel; engaging with plans for world peace; dealing with the unpleasantness of individual human beings on the subway. Then there’s the tedium of dealing with an addicted brother whose primary talent is haplessness. The television and YouTube provide distractions - from the most effective forms of self-harm to the monks of Mount Athos to Buddhist practice to sex robots. Whom to choose to accompany you on your apocalyptic ‘doomstead’ is a chronic worry. Planning for disaster is never finished. And life, of course, goes on.

My opinion: these people are pretty far up their own backsides. Not being able to decide what is important is a fatal condition. Such downtrodden lives. From the Have a Heart humane mousetrap to the coy liaison with the sexy French Canadian, it’s all too tragically precious. 1960’s Frisco hippiedom morphed into 21st century Brooklyn Heights grandchildren. Life does go on for these folk. Thank goodness it isn’t mine.

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