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All This Could Be Yours by Jami Attenberg Sunday Book Circle - Part I

This novel is about a dysfunctional family, their individual issues, and their strange grief around the approaching death of the patriarch of the family. It follows multiple viewpoints, including Victor the father, Barbara the mother, Alex the daughter, Gary the son, and their families, including Alex’s ex-husband (though not his viewpoint) and daughter and Gary’s wife and daughter. The book also jumps into the minds of people that cross paths with them in the city of New Orleans and Los Angeles.

This is another book that probably I could have done without. In fact, it probably would have been better if it had never been written in the first place. All This Could Be Yours is written in response to the Me Too movement and the New Yorker article exposing Harvey Weinstein. Victor, the abusive father, is flat as a result. I complained about this when the novel first came out. Victor is just a mustache twirling villain, but someone countered to me that he was supposed be like Weinstein and just enjoyed hurting people.

But even having read quotes from Weinstein, I’d say the guy is less flat than Victor and has a lot of self-hatred, or at least subconsciously performative self-hatred. While a man who should have been dethroned and thrown in prison years ago, he’s still a human being and not a cartoon. But people want to believe that those who do evil things and do them for years are not human, that there’s no way anyone could have been fooled or sympathetic. But the truth is sadism, while horrific, is not an all encompassing personality. Maybe the sadist is also hilarious or a good cook or a math genius. Maybe they sometimes have moments of clarity and self-destruction. I’m not saying any of that forgives a sadist for any sadistic acts they commit, but it certainly makes them more interesting than Victor.

Victor is too much like Addie Bundren of As I Lay Dying, except As I Lay Dying is even less about how the people related to Addie than it is about how they related to each other. Nearly All This Could Be Yours is about how each person related to Victor, so we get a bunch of external pictures of Victor. It’s Attenberg’s out for not trying to get into the mind of a dark person and really explore it. I find this cowardly. I know it’s hard to get into the mind of a truly horrible human being. I’m having a hard time doing so for a novel about a misandrist who abuses men, but it being difficult is half the reason for doing it in the first place. First of all, it challenges you and secondly, it helps us better understand humanity to do so.

As writers, we should take risks, push what’s comfortable, and go after the more difficult goals. Victor being given a quick narrative snapshot from his point of view and then thought about and remembered for the rest of the novel is none of those things. It’s also boring and makes for a quick novel especially since Attenberg shies away from showing an abusive relationship in any detail (a lack of bravery again). He was a bad person. He made people’s lives difficult. End of story. No need to elaborate or make me read page after page of how he messed up his kids.

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The King's Guardess
Chapter 19: The Prize to Be Won

Steam rose in lazy swirls from the bathwater, curling around the figure of Renault as he reclined with a cloth draped over his face. The silence of the chamber was thick, almost tangible. With a sudden movement that sent ripples across the surface, Renault yanked the cloth away, his brow knitted with distress.

"Ugh," he groaned, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. His thoughts churned like the water around him. “What is wrong with me? This was always the plan. She deserves this. She—”

Images of Gerardine cascaded through his mind unbidden: her stoic presence in his father's dimly lit bedroom, the unwavering gaze as she witnessed the old king's last breath; her commanding voice during those dusty afternoons of swordplay, "Pick. Up. Your. Sword."; the way she flung her hair back, beads of water glittering in the sun; her triumphant grin, sharp enough to cut steel, as Sir Heloise lay in the grass defeated; the memory of her bow, so full of rage, after his fist met her cheek; the fire in her eyes when she hurled juggling balls at him in a fit of pique; her laughter – that rare, uninhibited melody which seemed to come from a place deep within her.

And then, the image that made his cheeks flare hotter than the bathwater: Gerardine beneath him, her identity no longer hidden by armor or pretense, but revealed in the moonlight as undeniably, breathtakingly woman.

 

 

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The King's Guardess
Chapter 18: The First Laugh

Gerardine jumped as the council chamber doors exploded open with a bang that could wake the dead. She let loose an unladylike "Holy fuck", just as Renault barreled out. The hall, thick with the musty scent of old books and older men, instantly brightened with his grinning presence.

"Sir Gerard!" he boomed, striding across the chamber like a conqueror. Before she could react, he was upon her, his hands clasping her upper arms as if they were comrades just seeing each other for the first time in years. "We're going hunting."

"Ah, joy," Gerardine groaned, her voice dripping sarcasm as Renault's infectious excitement failed to penetrate her annoyance. Yet, when he tugged her from her post, her body complied with an uncharacteristic limpness—resistance was futile against the human whirlwind that was Renault.

"Come on, no sour faces," he chided cheerfully, reading her like an old friend, much older than they actually were. "Don't worry! No horses and horsing around this time."

"Promise?" she asked, her eyebrow arching in mock hopefulness. Renault only laughed in response, leading her away from the drudgery of duty to the promise of adventure—or at least, his version of it.

***
Deep within the forest, trees whispered secrets to each other as Renault and Gerardine treaded through the underbrush. Bow in hand, Gerardine's eyes couldn't help but wander over to Renault. Clad in his hunting leathers, he cut a dashing figure among the greens and browns of their woodland playground. He was all focus, eyes scanning, every muscle tensed for the hunt. And then there was her, trying to remember why she had agreed to this.

Catching her gaze, Renault's eyebrow quirked up. "What?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge.

"Nothing," Gerardine responded too quickly, her cheeks warming just a smidge. "I'm just waiting for your next prank, sire."

Renault's smile bloomed like a rose in summer. Eyes closed, head raised to the heavens as if in silent thanks, he proclaimed, "I'm giving you a reprieve for the day."

"Generous," Gerardine deadpanned, offering him a blank-faced stare that should have been enough to wilt flowers. "How kind of you, your majesty."

His laughter echoed through the forest, birds taking flight from their sanctuary in the trees. There was something unsettlingly charming about Renault in these moments—unburdened by the weight of his crown, free in a way that made Gerardine's heart perform strange little flips. But she'd never admit to that, not even under pain of torture.

"Oh, am I getting to you?" Renault's voice was a tease, his grin wide as he leaned in, close enough that Gerardine could count every speck of mischief in his eyes.

"Perhaps my nerves," she retorted, arching an eyebrow in mock defiance, "but not my funny bone."

 

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The King's Guardess
Chapter 17: Take a Break!

Renault sat at the head of the long, oak council table, a mischievous glint in his eye as he manipulated a peculiar bag with his fingers. With a squeeze, it erupted into a scandalous sound that echoed off the stone walls, and he couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. The gathered councilors, however, were far from amused, their brows knitted together in collective annoyance.

"What?" Renault asked innocently, looking around at the sea of scowling faces.

"Sire, could you please focus?" implored the councilor with glasses perched precariously on his nose. His tone held the same weariness one might reserve for a child who had asked 'why' too many times.

But Renault, undeterred by the plea for seriousness, refilled the rubbery pouch with another gust of breath and pressed it once more, releasing yet another flatulent symphony into the solemn chamber. "Is this funny?" he queried with the enthusiasm of a bard presenting his finest ballad.

The councilor with the impressive beard, whose face was lost somewhere within the thicket of hair, leaned forward. "What is that?" he grumbled, voice deep and resonating like an old war drum.

With a flourish fit for a jester, Renault waved the strange object through the air. "It's a sheep’s stomach treated with wax," he explained, as if unveiling a grand invention.

The oldest councilor, wrinkles mapping out the trials of countless tedious meetings, sighed deeply. "What do you plan to do with it?" he asked, dread seeping into his voice.

Renault's smile broadened, eyes twinkling with the promise of mischief. "I’m going to fill it with air and then put it on Sir Gerard’s seat at dinner. It will make it sound like he farted."

As if on cue, the councilors released a chorus of groans, a sound Renault was becoming all too familiar with. He scanned their faces, puzzled. "What?"

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