The Widow’s Children by Paula Fox

A couple of years ago I read Desperate Characters – a 1970 novel by the American writer Paula Fox – in which a cat bite sparks a crisis in the lives of a privileged middle-class couple, setting in motion a series of events which threatens to undermine their seemingly harmonious existence. There is a crisis of sorts too in The Widow’s Children, Fox’s later novel of family dysfunction, first published in 1976. This is an acutely observed story of longstanding slights and prejudices, of things left unsaid or buried beneath the social niceties of family gatherings, of trying to live up to the burden of expectations – both those we demand of ourselves and those imposed on us by others. It is an excellent book, one that deserves to be much better-known.

Fox’s novel could be likened to a play, a deliberately claustrophobic chamber piece that plays out in an extended sequence of scenes, each one denoted by a new chapter. The cast is small and finely sketched, allowing us to observe each character in some detail.

Central to the story is Laura Clapper (née Maldonada), a fifty-five-year old prima donna, now married to her second husband, a rather foolish, hard-drinking man by the name of Desmond. Laura is impulsive, outspoken and manipulative, a woman with virtually no self-awareness and very little understanding of her impact on those around her. As Peter Rice, her longstanding editor friend observes at one point, ‘she actually can’t judge her own behaviour […]; she explodes, then wonders at the flying glass’. For Desmond, life with Laura is exhausting, for it is he who has to pick up the pieces when she blows up.

Completing the core cast are Laura’s brother, Carlos, a faded music critic, openly gay and playing the field; Clara, her timid, self-effacing daughter from her first marriage; and Eugenio, Laura’s other brother, a rather distracted individual who appears in one of the later scenes. Also central to the story, although we never meet her in person, is Alma Maldonada, mother of Laura, Carlos and Eugenio, an elderly widow who resides in a nursing home.

As the novel opens, Clara, Carlos and Peter Rice are preparing to join Laura and Desmond for drinks in their hotel room to say goodbye to the couple before they embark on an extended holiday to Africa. Before the guests arrive, we learn that earlier in the afternoon Laura received a phone call from the care home informing her that Alma had just died; but instead of telling Desmond the news, she keeps the information firmly to herself, showing no signs of sorrow or distress in the process. If anything, the opposite could be said to be true – Laura seems to relish in the knowledge of this secret fact, something that she alone is privy to, possibly to reveal at a vital moment during the evening ahead.

Her mind had been empty of thought; she had known only that something implacable had taken hold of her. And she had felt a half-crazed pleasure and an impulse to shout that she knew and possessed this thing that no one else knew, this consequential fact, hard and real among the soft accumulations of meaningless events of which their planned trip to Africa was one other, to be experienced only through its arrangements, itinerary, packing, acquisition of medicines for intestinal upsets, books to read, clock, soap, passports, the husk of action surrounding the motionless center of their existence together. (p. 18)

And so this bizarre evening begins during which the members of the Maldonada clan dance around one another in a strained sequence of manoeuvres during which various tensions become apparent and old grievances are revealed. (As of yet, there has been no mention of Alma’s death.) As Clara puts it here, the interactions between individuals are characterised by a marked gulf between outward behaviours and inner feelings, all in the name of keeping the charade of ‘family’ going. But to what end one might ask, especially with someone like Laura orchestrating the show.

In no other company more than among these Spaniards was Clara so conscious of a discrepancy between surface talk and inner preoccupation. They sped from one posture to another, eliciting with amused cries each other’s biases, pretending to discover anew the odd notions each harbored, amusing themselves nearly to death! Until Laura, with a hard question, thrust a real sword through the paper props, and there would be for a second, a minute, the startled mortified silence of people caught out in a duplicity for which they could find no explanation. Then, with what indulgence, what tenderness, Laura rescued them, sometimes. (p. 41)

As the evening plays out, we learn more about the backstory of each character, their individual flaws and imperfections, their missed chances and lost opportunities. We discover that Clara was abandoned by Laura as a young baby, only to be brought up by the impoverished Alma in her makeshift home in Brooklyn, a fact that has coloured Clara’s relationship with her formidable mother ever since. I love this passage describing Clara’s arrival at the drinks gathering, a moment that conveys so much about her perceived inferiority to Laura, and in so few words.

“Hello,” said Laura, bringing up the greeting from the deepest reach of her voice, a plangent, thrilling annunciation to which, Clara knew, no response would measure up, felt with a sinking heart that her own “hello” would weigh less than dust on such a scale of tonal drama, and so only held out her hand. Her mother gripped her fingers strongly for an instant, then withdrew her hand to a cigarette. (p. 19)

Clara also experiences a sense of unease about the state of her relationship with Alma, reluctant as she is to visit her at the care home even though she feels obliged to do so. Perhaps as a consequence of the nature of her fractured family, Clara seeks affection elsewhere. There is a man in her life; but as he married with children, the chances of her achieving a fulfilling relationship with him seem cruelly out of reach.

Carlos too feels the sting of his sister’s gaze; his rather sad and empty life is revealed in this insightful reflection, one of many in the book.

…Carlos would fold his hands behind his head and lie there, tears running down his cheeks, thinking of his used-up life, of lovers dead or gone, of investments made unwisely, of his violent sister who might telephone him at any minute and, with her elaborate killer’s manners, in her beautiful deep voice, make some outrageous demand upon him, making clear she knew not only the open secrets of his life but the hidden ones, knew about his real shiftlessness, his increasing boredom with sexual pursuit, his unappeased sexual longing, his terror of age. (p. 39)

Perhaps most notably, we also hear more about Alma’s story, how she emigrated from Spain to Cuba at the age of sixteen to marry a much older man she had never met before; how she neglected the Maldonada children when they were young; and how, following the death of her husband, she fled from Cuba to the USA where the family struggled to rebuild their lives. As a consequence, there is a noticeable sense of displacement running through this novel, an undercurrent of shifting circumstances and identities, which adds to the fault lines that have emerged over time.

I’m not going to reveal if and how the news of Alma’s death comes out; that would spoil the story, I think. Nevertheless, when the party move to a nearby restaurant for dinner, it becomes clear that Laura may have been more affected by the day’s events than had appeared at first sight. Interestingly, in the second half of the novel, the focus shifts away from Laura towards the male characters in the story, particularly Peter Rice – the ‘half-scant life’ he has settled for is touchingly revealed.

All in all, The Widow’s Children is a very accomplished novel – razor sharp and precise in style, brittle and unflinching in its sensibilities. The writing is superb, packed full of insightful observations on the inner truths of our lives and the fronts we put up to conform to expected social conventions. There are frequent references to predatory birds and animals throughout the book – the core symbolism is an obvious one.

I’ll finish with a final quote that caught my eye, this one from the ‘Restaurant’ chapter of the book.

Clara grew aware, with an easing of her spirit, that there were other people not much more than an arm’s length away, small islands of people at their tables, among whom waiters eddied and shifted, bent and straightened up. Some of the diners looked domestic, some festive, and some were silent. How, she wondered, did this table appear to all those others? In the subdued ambiguity of the restaurant lighting, the sustained clamor of conversation and eating, would anyone glancing casually at the Clapper table have observed the ravages of the battles that had raged among them. And was the apparent placidity and self-satisfaction of all those other people only a contrived show? (p. 123)

The Widow’s Children is published by Flamingo; personal copy.

45 thoughts on “The Widow’s Children by Paula Fox

  1. madamebibilophile

    Everything about this appeals to me – the writing, the containment of the action, the fractures in the lives being exposed – I’ve clearly got a Paula Fox shaped hole in my life! Great review as always Jacqui :-)

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      That’s great. I would thoroughly recommend you give her a go. She’s a very impressive writer, so sharp when it comes to probing and capturing the fissures in people’s relationships with one another. In some ways, I’m surprised she’s not better known…c’est la vie, I guess.

      Reply
  2. A Life in Books

    I remember reading Desperate Characters some time ago when it was published – or perhaps re-issued here in the UK – and being struck by Fox’s pin-point sharp writing. It sounds as if The Widow’s Children delivers more of the same.

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Yes, definitely. If anything, I found this one even sharper (and perhaps more caustic) than Desperate Characters. It’s definitely worth seeking out if you liked DC.

      Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      I think she’s a brilliant writer – certainly on the strength of these two novels. There’s a memoir too, Borrowed Finery, which is meant to be amazing. She’s definitely worth seeking out.

      Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Thanks, Gert. I can’t quite recall where I first heard about her, but it must have been through a recommendation from a like-minded reader, possibly someone I’m in contact with via Twitter. I don’t think she’s very well known outside of the US (and possibly not there either). There’s an interesting profile of her here, from The Guardian:

      https://www.theguardian.com/books/2003/jun/21/featuresreviews.guardianreview7

      Flamingo reissued some of her books for adults a few years ago, so she’s still in print as far as I can tell. There are some children’s books too – I can’t imagine what they’re like! I think you’d like her a lot – well, certainly on the basis of this one and Desperate Characters.

      Reply
  3. gertloveday

    Thank you for the link tothe Guardian article about Paula Fox’s life. It is extraordinary how much of it resembles the life of Clara in this novel. I will be ordering Desparate Remedies first.

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      You’re very welcome. Yes, fascinating stuff – I think she drew on a lot of her own personal experiences in life, particularly with this novel. Her memoir, Borrowed Finery, sounds excellent too. Let me know how you get on with her – I’d love to know.

      Reply
  4. Caroline

    I absolutely love Paula Fox and want to read everything she’s ever written. She’s even written one of my all time favourite novels.
    This sounds just as good as those I’ve read. I must say, I wasn’t aware of thus novel.

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      She’s wonderful, isn’t she? Such an astute observer of people – I love her ability to prise open the fault lines in her characters’ relationships. Out of interest, which of her novels is your favourite? I’ve only read this one and Desperate Characters, but I’d be interested in hearing about others.

      Reply
      1. Caroline

        She is wonderful. I knew you would ask – sorry I didn’t name the book but when I wrote my comment – the title was suddenly gone. So annoying. It’s The God of Nightmares.

        Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      You’re very welcome, Ali. There’s a good chance you’d take to this, especially given the fact that you enjoyed Desperate Characters so much. It’s probably more claustrophobic in tone than DC (especially in the opening sections), but every scene is brilliantly observed.

      Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Oh, this is well worth seeking out! I think you’d find it intriguing from a couple of perspectives – firstly the dynamics between the characters and secondly the structure Fox employs in the novel. There’s a very interesting shift of focus in the second half, something that adds another dimension to the book.

      Reply
        1. JacquiWine Post author

          Ha! Funnily enough, I’m actually reading one of your recommendations right now: The Executioner Weeps by Frédéric Dard! It’s a great little book – I love the way it blends the central mystery with a love story.

          Reply
            1. JacquiWine Post author

              It’s really good – I’ll probably write something about it once I’ve cleared my backlog. Bird in a Cage is excellent too, devilishly clever. I can’t recall if you’ve read it – if not, it”s definitely worth tracking down.

              Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      I thought this was great, just as good as Desperate Characters (which is the one that seems to get the most attention). It’s difficult to say why Fox isn’t better known. Flamingo reissued some of her books a few years ago, so maybe there was a little uplift in interest back then? I’m hoping the recent Backlisted podcast on DC might encourage a few more readers to give her a go – she deserves to be read more widely.

      Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Thanks, Juliana. It’s a great book, and the dynamics between the characters are brilliantly observed. I couldn’t help but imagine it as a play in my mind, especially given the small cast and the nature of the settings.

      Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      That’s okay, Max – I can understand that. You might be more interested in the one I’ll be reviewing next week – it’s Death in the Tunnel, a Miles Burton mystery from the British Library Crime Classics series, a rather enjoyable puzzler.

      Reply
  5. Naomi

    Sounds good! Funny, someone else was recommending one of her books recently – I think it was Desperate Characters. I will have to add this author to my list!

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      I can certainly recommend her! She’s turned out to be a great discovery for me over the past year or two. Desperate Characters would probably be the one to go for if you can find a copy – it’s where I started and I’ve never looked back since.

      Reply
  6. BookerTalk

    Im usually a bit reticent about family dramas but this one sounds much better than most. I can imagine the tension crackling with all those undercurrents and things that people really want to get off their chest.

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Yes, the tension is palpable here, right from the opening pages. I can imagine that the drama might not be to everyone’s tastes, but each individual scene is very well observed.

      Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Lovely. Desperate Characters would be a great place to start. If you’re a podcast person, you might be interested in listening to this episode of Backlisted as they covered the book in one of their recent discussions.

      Reply
  7. bookbii

    Beautiful review Jacqui. I feel like I know the name Paula Fox but am not sure why as I’m sure I’ve never read any of her works. This sounds like a tightly written novel, carefully observed and delicately unpicked. A little claustrophobic perhaps, but in a good way.

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Thanks, Belinda. The sense of claustrophobia is employed more effectively here than in Elizabeth Howard’s The Long View. In some respects, the early sections reminded me a little of a darker version of a Neil Simon play, something like Plaza Suite where the action is confined to an enclosed setting.

      Reply
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