The Grown Ups Page 33
P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
About the author
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Meet Robin Antalek
About the book
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Reading Group Guide
Just for Fun: Playlists for The Grown Ups
Read on
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Excerpt from The Summer We Fell Apart
About the author
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Meet Robin Antalek
Photo by Jill Cowburn
ROBIN ANTALEK is the author of The Summer We Fell Apart, chosen as a Target Breakout Book. Her nonfiction work has been published at The Weeklings and The Nervous Breakdown, and collected in the following anthologies: The Beautiful Anthology; Writing Óff Script: Writers on the Influence of Cinema; and The Weeklings: Revolution #1, Selected Essays 2012–13. Her short fiction has appeared in 52 Stories, Five Chapters, Sundog, The Southeast Review, and Literary Mama, among others. She has twice received honorable mentions in Glimmer Train magazine, as well as been a finalist for the Tobias Wolff Award for Fiction. The Grown Ups is her second novel. She lives in Saratoga Springs, New York.
You can visit her site at www.robinantalek.com
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About the book
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Reading Group Guide
1.Robin Antalek introduces us to the summer of Suzie Epstein by writing, “It was the summer all the children in the neighborhood caught a virus.” Why do you think she begins with this detail? How does the set piece of the virus add to the tension of the summer, and how does it foreshadow the themes of the novel?
2.Why do you think Suzie chose to hurt Sam? Even if she were to tell Sam about his mother and Mr. Epstein, why did she build a relationship with him first, and why did she wait until the day she left to show him the pictures?
3.Why do you think Marguerite and Hunt choose to renovate the family home? Does it go beyond the physical space? What are they trying to achieve?
4.Did you have a group of friends in your life similar to the one Sam had? Did you keep in touch? What pulls people together and pushes them apart over time?
5.On the surface, Sam and Michael are complete opposites. What do you think their most inherent difference is? Do they have anything in common? Who do you think ends up happier?
6.When Sam leaves Bella’s apartment, Bella says, “Pretending was nice, wasn’t it?” What do you think she’s referring to? In their relationship, what is real and what is pretend?
7.When Suzie and Michael get engaged, Bella says that she is happy but that she doesn’t “quite feel there.” What does she mean by this?
8.Sam says that he is going to tell his father he is flunking out of school, but instead Sam goes to see his mother in Vermont. Why is it so important for him to see her at that moment in his life?
9.Of Suzie, Sam says, “I loved her only if love was all about getting to the next base.” Do you think this is true? Is a fifteen-year-old capable of love, and is that what Sam felt?
10.Each of the characters experiences personal tragedy. How does their tragedy shape each of them?
11.The concept of being “grown up” is a recurring motif in the novel. How does each of the main characters define this differently?
Just for Fun: Playlists for The Grown Ups
WHEN I WRITE, if I’m really lucky, I’m really just transcribing this big movie in my head that unrolls and plays on a loop until I put it on paper. That’s the only way I can describe what happens when I’ve really fallen into the story with a group of characters all clamoring to be heard. The songs I picked for Sam, Suzie, and Bella map out their emotional territory—and add to the their lives as only a great soundtrack can enhance a movie and sweep you right back into the moment.
Sam Turner
Lenny Bruce, the Historic 1962 Concert When Lenny Was Busted
West Side Story, Original Cast Soundtrack
Mr. Ed: Straight from the Horse’s Mouth, Mike Stewart and The Stable Hands
At fifteen Sam’s world is his friends and not much else. A lot of his free time is spent in the basement of his friend Peter Chang’s house, where the boys hang to play video games, get drunk, and listen to a few albums belonging to Peter Chang’s mother on an old-school stereo cabinet. The diversity of these albums is absurd, but that’s half the fun.
“Your Body Is a Wonderland,” John Mayer
Sam and Suzie Epstein do some exploring in her basement at fifteen, and later, Sam and Bella Spade begin a relationship while seniors in high school. Sam’s desire for Bella combined with a refusal to define their relationship leaves them loosely attached through the next few years.
“My Father’s House,” Bruce Springsteen
Sam’s father falls in love with Marguerite, and they embark on a massive renovation of Sam’s childhood home. During this time Sam’s father, Hunt, suffers a massive coronary and needs emergency surgery.
“You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” The Rolling Stones
“You’re Gonna Miss Me,” 13th Floor Elevators
Sam’s brother, Michael, is dating Suzie Epstein, Sam’s first crush. It doesn’t help that in Sam’s eyes Michael always seems to get what he wants. These two songs encapsulate Sam’s feelings from the time he finds out they are dating right up through their engagement and wedding.
“All Day and All of the Night,” The Kinks
“Till the End of the Day,” The Kinks
Drifting from job to job, in a perpetual state of dissatisfaction, Sam takes Peter Chang up on the offer of a week out on the Cape with their friends. To his dismay Bella arrives with her boyfriend, Ted. It’s during this trip that Sam eventually concedes that Bella is his one true love. So he pines his way through the week. The pounding punk tunes of the Kinks seem just about right for the chaos that is the state of Sam’s brain.
“The Weight,” The Band
With its religious allusions to Nazareth, and the offer to “take a load off,” this song seems just about right for Sam, who leaves yet another job, retreats to his childhood home again, adrift, tries to reconcile his less than stellar life so far to that of his cardiologist brother, only to discover that home is not what it used to be. His father is struggling. Sam’s attempts to explain his feelings to Bella are rebuffed. Some serious soul-searching is going on here.
“Come As You Are,” Nirvana
This message of acceptance should be Sam’s anthem by the time he figures it all out. His opening of a restaurant coincides with the birth of Suzie and Michael’s son, Leo.
“Feels Like the First Time,” Foreigner
This is a fairly corny song, but it’s one of those recognizable rock anthems that work. If you’ve traveled with Sam down his winding path to figuring it all out, this song makes a lot of sense by the end of the book.
Suzie Epstein
“Pictures of You,” The Cure
Suzie’s discovery of her father’s shoebox of pictures is the catalyst that sets the summer of 1997 in motion and plays a role in linking this group of friends forever.
“Losing My Religion,” R.E.M.
There are multiple layers of meaning here for Suzie. It’s confessional, it’s about pining for someone, and it’s about losing that last tip of civility. Leaving her friends, moving with her family to “start over” even though the new beginning was doomed, losing her virginity, losing her identity. This song is all tied up in what was happening to Suzie Epstein in the years immediately following the discovery of those photographs.
“Wonderwall,” Oasis
Suzie is as surprised as anyone when she falls in love with Sam’s brother, Michael. She has been on her own for so long, taking care of it all for everyone, that it takes a while for her to understand that Michael is really there for her. It’s not until she begins to trust him that she would ever allow herself the idea of being saved from herself.
“Just a Girl,” No Doubt
This Gwen
Stefani punk girl anthem seemed to embody the meaning of the burden of femininity that Suzie had pushed against for years. Giving Suzie this song when everything is right—med school, fiancé, friends, a generally fulfilled life—seems like less a fight song and more of a “look how far I’ve come” song.
“Back to Black,” Amy Winehouse
Despite everything, Suzie struggles to have a relationship with her mother, Sarah. Ultimately, every interaction leads them in a circle.
“Cry Baby,” Janis Joplin
Suzie is struggling to cope with her first miscarriage, a demanding medical residency, and her relationships with her husband, Bella, and her mother. That raw scrape of Janis Joplin’s vocal chords as she wails Cry baby, cry baby, cry is the opposite of what Suzie allows herself, but what she desperately needs.
“The Drugs Don’t Work,” The Verve
After Suzie suffers several miscarriages in an eighteen-month period, her relationship with Michael nearly collapses.
“Happy Together,” The Turtles
This song is a sweet retro kind of love song that perfectly captures the bliss Suzie feels when she and Michael finally have their baby boy, Leo.
Bella Spade
“Summertime,” Billie Holiday
Nostalgia fuels Bella’s early years—mostly because she has never known a time where her mother hasn’t been sick. She pieces together the before from her mother’s journals and photographs. She’s also a dreamy kind of girl, expressing herself in writing that she isn’t bold enough to share even though she longs for an intellectual and artistic life. The summer before she moves on to Vassar is life altering in many ways, and the languid mellow tones of Billie Holiday’s “Summertime” capture this moment in Bella’s life perfectly.
“Don’t Forget Me,” “Pussy Cats” Starring the Walkmen
Bella’s mother dies during her junior year of college. Her best friend, Suzie Epstein, reappears in her life at her mother’s funeral, and Sam leaves her without explanation. This song speaks to all of Bella’s fears and so much more.
“Time After Time,” Cyndi Lauper
Bella’s gradual acceptance of Sam’s disappearance is made easier somehow by Suzie’s reappearance in her life. The catch is that Suzie is in a relationship with Michael, Sam’s brother, and that makes forgetting Sam completely just a little bit harder.
“Bohemian Like You,” The Dandy Warhols
Bella attends grad school at the prestigious Iowa City writers program, where she meets Ted, a fellow in poetry. They begin an intense affair and Bella, totally captivated, moves to a rustic cabin Ted has built in Montana without running water or electricity. With Ted by her side, Bella believes she has finally fulfilled her destiny of being a true artist unaffected by the material world. Unfortunately, she’s not writing at all.
“Miss You,” The Rolling Stones
Suzie and Michael get married. Bella attends with Ted. They are still living in Montana, but for Bella, economic necessity and maybe a lack of inspiration intrude, as well as the realization that she misses her friends and family and even running water. There is nothing romantic about outhouses. She takes a job back at the Iowa City workshop filling in for a teacher, and that job leads to an interview in New York City at Hunter College. Despite Ted’s very vocal objection, he moves with her to New York.
“I Can’t Make You Love Me,” Bonnie Raitt
The relationship between Ted and Bella is cracking—despite everything—and after almost three years, they split up. Bella returns home for Thanksgiving with the story that Ted is on a writer’s retreat.
“Sleeping Lessons,” The Shins
Sam offers his heart to Bella over breakfast in the same diner where they spent a significant amount of time during high school. Still reeling from her breakup with Ted and Sam’s sudden commitment to loving her, Bella rejects him and retreats.
“That Old Feeling,” Frank Sinatra
Months after his confession, Sam arrives at Bella’s doorstep in the middle of the night—and this lovely old song just says it all about how she feels about Sam.
Read on
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Excerpt from The Summer We Fell Apart
THE SUMMER we took in a boarder my mother started wearing headscarves. They were adorned with elaborate patterns and colors as if a fistful of crayons had melted on her head. Often she wore more than one at a time twisted around each other and tied low at the nape of her neck so a plume of silk cascaded down her back. The scarves swayed from side to side as she walked, like the dragons in the New Year’s Parade in Chinatown. They were so odd an affectation that it prompted our boarder, Miriam, to ask me if my mother was sick.
Miriam was from Switzerland and spoke French, with only a minimum of English, so she pronounced the word sick as seeeck and it took me a few moments to understand what she was asking. I was left to shrug and roll my eyes as if to say: Parents? Who can explain them? Truth was I had no explanation for the scarves, although I guessed they were probably a result of my mother getting home late from the theater with mussed up, dirty hair. She was in a play in New York that required her to wear a wig—some depressing Bertolt Brecht thing. My mother was excited about it because she thought it lent her credibility as an actor. My brother George and I had used her comp opening-night tickets not so much to see our mother as to see the stage debut of a TV actor George thought was hot.
So the weird headscarf affectation could be explained like this: by the time the car she’d hired brought her back from the city to our house in Nyack it was close to dawn. My mother was vain and, frankly, uninterested in the mundane lives of her last teenage children—she was done—fini, as the French say—but I didn’t know how that would translate, so I gave Miriam the universal shrug. I could tell from the expression on her face that she wanted more than I could give.
I’d caught Miriam more than once studying the dusty family photos that lined the halls of our house and ran up the steps like crooked teeth—her face up so close to some of the old black-and-whites that shreds of cobwebs clung to her chin and nose. In pictures I can see we translate well and so I understand her fascination. Our parents back then were often together, smiling wide, showing all their teeth, and holding cocktails or being hugged by someone famous (if only in their obscure theater circles). The rest of us—we are four in all—looking mildly amused or bored in all the pictures, even when we were babies.
Miriam had not met the rest of us yet since it was only George and me still at home. Miriam occupied Finn’s old room with the crew paddles and lacrosse sticks hanging on the wall. Being the only female in the house besides my mother (who was most definitely not participating in the Miriam project), I was the one to get Miriam’s room ready and I chose Finn’s room because his has a little bathroom tucked under the attic stairs. When I was turning the mattress to freshen it, I found several Penthouse magazines and, tucked between the appropriately suggestive pages, love letters from an old girlfriend, Holly, along with an ancient crinkled condom pack.
I pocketed the condom (wishful thinking—I was going to college a virgin) and threw away the magazines, but I kept the love letters. I planned to surprise Finn with them when he came back from Europe at the end of the month.
Finn was off on a backpacking trip with our father and at some point they were supposed to meet up with my older sister, Kate, who lives in Florence and teaches English. Finn was the only sibling actually invited to join our father. George suspected Finn was asked because he is the true coward among us and will not question our father on why he has abandoned our family.
When George says things like that, I feel bad that Miriam seems to be idolizing us—at least the “us” in pictures. Our father is responsible for Miriam’s presence in our house, which explains everything and nothing. All we know is that she is an exchange student for the year without a place to stay. She would be attending high school with me for senior year. I had no idea my father even knew such a thing as an exchange existed, let alone a single
person in town who would even consider allowing my family to take someone in. I thought the whole concept of exchange involved another student participating in the exchange, but in Miriam’s case that didn’t seem to apply.
Miriam showed up on our doorstep the day our father’s bags appeared in the front hallway. Their luggage commingled for a few hours while George (who frequently took our mother’s side—because it seemed there was always a side to take) scowled at Miriam from the top landing, vowing to have nothing to do with her (lucky for Miriam his vows usually last all of five minutes), and I destroyed the French language in an attempt at conversation. Our father was, as usual, absent. Our mother was hiding on purpose in her room with the door bolted. I could smell the cigarette smoke from downstairs and I pictured her in her bed, the curtains against the early August heat. She would be smoking furiously, lighting the next cigarette off the last, all the while blinking and applying eyedrops (while she tried not to light her hair on fire) because her eyes watered from the gray cloud above her bed. The day would be no different from the others just because Miriam had arrived. My mother would only rise to shower and emerge from her room moments before the car came to take her into the city. This is why I know more about Miriam than anyone in the house. She puts double the amount of coffee and half the amount of water in the pot so the coffee is deep and thick and bitter. She prefers baths to showers—when she takes them—and she often wears the same skirt several days in a row, although she always changes her blouse. She eats bread and jam and cheese in her room or standing up at the kitchen sink. Sometimes she cuts the cheese with a knife and fork. She dislikes tomatoes and eggs. She carries an old-fashioned floral handkerchief in her pocket and adores television. I have found her several times sitting in the middle of the den transfixed by the small black-and-white my siblings have long derided because everyone we know has large color televisions where you can identify the actors without the aid of a magnifying glass. Miriam actually cleared off the accumulated detritus we’d neglected so that she could have an unobstructed view of the minuscule screen. Although I had no idea what to think about her viewing choices of the sitcoms—Roseanne, Murphy Brown, Home Improvement, and Cheers—it must have given her glimpses of American life that she wasn’t experiencing by living with us. After several weeks at our house she surely must have figured out that no television show could accurately portray her existence in our world.