Broken for You

How many times have we been told that some good comes out of everything, even the worst of events? And, of course, at the time it’s hard—even impossible—to believe. Still, I find this simple wisdom soothing in this time of wars and natural disasters in not-so-distant lands (practically next-door, when one realizes the world grows smaller as our neighbor’s child could be the next war statistic, or a traveling relative or friend the victim of a natural disaster). I think of how, in a period of personal family woes over a decade ago, I returned to writing and visual arts: an unexpected gift to myself and, eventually, to those people (women especially) who have participated in WomanWords and other workshops I’ve organized and facilitated over the past eight years. Out of difficult experiences, a small miracle of creativity that made a large difference in my life.

Broken for You, Stephanie Kallos’ first novel (Grove Press, 2004), is about fixing those broken times, maybe even about breaking something to create another “whole” from that which was worn or irritating, somehow a great wrong left in a life… and perhaps, ultimately, in the Universe. Sound like too big a statement? Have you ever—or do you know someone who has—thrown a dish or the sugar bowl (preferably empty) across the room, against the wall, in a fit of anger or frustration? Do you know someone who’s told you that her therapist suggests whacking a pillow with a tennis racket when she needs to “get it all out”? In Broken for You, septuagenarian Margaret Hughes discovers a magical relief one night when she flings one of her countless porcelain antiques against the garden wall, and later she prescribes the same medicine for her new boarder, Wanda Schultz, a woman with a broken heart amongst her other baggage.

Both women, in their own ways, have shut themselves off from the world for years. A brain tumor diagnosis prompts Margaret to change her life, take a risk. She advertises for someone to board in her enormous, antique-filled mansion. Wanda, who has traveled to Seattle from New York City to search for the man who left her, responds. The elderly woman who has spent the last decades in a huge house conversing with her inanimate objects, and Wanda, who lost not only her lover but a whole childhood (her mother disappeared and then her father deposited her with relatives to search for his wife), make for a strange pair—and then a tragic accident disables and further devastates the younger woman.

It takes time for Margaret to share with Wanda the source of the priceless figurines: her father acquired most of them from Europe during World War II—they were items stolen by the Nazis from people sent to concentration camps. Never able to locate a single survivor to whom she might return a piece, her guilt is a stone in her heart (along with a divorce and the death of her young son). As the story progresses and more antiques shatter, a mosaic artist is born and a healing journey begins. An entire surrogate family emerges, as the lives of the two women expand and intertwine with others through unexpected events and unanticipated meetings.

As for the craft of this book, it is beautifull. If you’re writing a novel yourself, take a look at how Kallos expertly (and poetically, I might add) moves from one character’s story to another and back, telling us just what we need to know at just the right time. This is a fabulous storyteller, with a poet’s touch. When she talks about the items which will be broken for use in a mosaic (later in the book), she is eloquent in speaking about the stories behind each piece—if you don’t know the story, you make it up:

…a small fragile thing will be pressed into your hands. “That belonged to a woman named Alta Fogle,” you might be told. “She was the child of Norwegian immigrants who owned a farm in northern Minnesota. Harsh country. Cold country. The Iron Range, they call it. Alta’s mother died in childbirth—the cup you’re holding was part of her dowry—and Alta was raised by her father. Sometimes they went ice fishing. They’d sit in the bob house and drink hot cocoa. Out of that cup. The one you’re holding in your hand. Alta never married. She never left Minnesota. She kept the farm after her father died. When she was ninety-two, in the middle of February, she took a thermos of hot milk and brandy out to the bob house, put in a line, and died. She left behind a farmhouse full of things: abandoned, alone, with no heirs to claim them.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter.

Maybe this is true. Maybe not. You can never be sure. All objects in the Hughes house have to have some meaning, and if their past is not known, stories are invented. Even the lowliest, most solitary unmatched object—the lone surviving salad plate acquired at Goodwill Industries—has significance, weight, relevance. The tale you just heard might be a big fish story, but right now you believe every word. You feel like you’re about to fuckin’ cry.

Eccentric, lively, believable characters. Things happening that, taken individually, might seem far-fetched—and yet they work together into a totally complete story that works. Broken for You offers wisdom; touches the heart; features women characters of strength, intelligence and compassion; reminds us of the healing power that can often come from the broken places, the amazing resilience of humankind.

WomanWorder/IWWG member Judith Prest highly recommended this book to me (thank you, Judy!)—she found it at the library. I bought it (still in hardcover) and it’s starting to circulate to some friends. Buy it or borrow it—then set yourself down in a comfy chair, somewhere warm, feet up, with a nice cup of hot cocoa—and enjoy a good story… The tale you [read] might be a big fish story, but … you [will] believe every word.

Peace & love,

Marilyn