The Lost Language of Cranes

The Lost Language of Cranes is a book that thinks it’s cleverer than it is.  Or, it is a book that is trying to be clever and failing.  Again, I’m glad that I had to read this one on a coach and all in one go because it motivated me to keep going with it.  I think I would have struggled a bit otherwise.

 

David Leavitt’s book tells the story of Owen, his wife Rose and their son Phillip.  Phillip is gay and the book kind of follows the gay culture and life in the East Village of New York City during the early 1980s.  Owen is also gay, but closeted and spends his Sundays with anonymous men in a porno theatre in the Village.  Rose has no idea.  The main narrative arc of the book isn't actually all that interesting (or well handled- the scene in which Owen comes out is wedged in the last twenty or so pages and the fall out just isn't dealt with, a fact which feels like such a loss). 

All the good bits of the book are the bits of the main characters' lives that don't relate to the others- Rose has had affairs in the past that were far more satisfying than her marriage, Phillip falls in love for the first time.  Naturally, the guy Phillip loves is a twat.  Owen's story isn't too interesting.  It's just a bit sordid and self-pitying.  He's a difficult character to root for.  He's very naive, ending the book convinced a one off liaison with another married man is going to lead to a relationship because this time, for the first time, he got the guy's name and phone number. He overlooks that while his marriage to Rose may be over there is less than nothing to indicate that the other guy's is on the rocks.

Another thing that I just didn’t like about The Lost Language of Cranes is a particular scene.  Phillip and his father meet up for dinner without Rose after Phillip comes out.   While Rose is having a hard time with it, Owen is seething with jealousy and so proceeds to get into the nitty gritty of his son’s sexuality and former masturbatory habits.  This isn’t the worse bit.  Owen, asking for himself but dressing it up as a question for Phillip, brings up bisexuality.  This does not go down well, not because Owen seems to be trying to question Phillip’s sexuality, but rather because Phillip does not believe in bisexuality.  Philip refers to "this bisexual thing" as "an excuse, a way of avoiding committing yourself, or admitting the truth."  It's pretty offensive. 

There were good parts to the book, though. There's a whole subplot about Phillip's friend Jorene coming out to her adoptive parents before being kicked out of the house and disowned.  It's a really interesting story that just isn't explored enough.  So much of this story feels like it could have been great if Leavitt had focused on the right thing.  There is so much name dropping of areas of New York that would have made no sense if I hadn't visited there.  I could only imagine half of the locations because I've been to them. It's sad, but for pretty much all of the book, I wanted to be reading about different characters.  The book needs more Jorene and less fucking Owen.

I have now moved on to King Lear of the Steppes by Ivan Turgenev.