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1 Burnside Literature- A to Z

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Breakable You


Breakable You Cover






As she watched her husband walk toward her, Eleanor Weller searched for signs of his recent accident, didnt find any, and wasnt sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. She had expected him to be limping, or walking with a cane, or, more dramatically, listing, like an injured ship, but he looked as brisk and confident as ever.

 He kissed her on the cheek. They had been separated long enough for her to find this endurable. Every other time shed seen him during the past year, shed held herself stiffly at a distance, sickened by the thought of coming into contact with him in any way.

 He took her arm, grasping it too tightly, as was his habit, and led her into the restaurant. She was stunned that she allowed herself to be led in this fashion, after everything.

 “Youre looking well,” he said, but she knew it wasnt true. Since hed left her shed been steadily gaining weight, about two pounds a month, and now she had become the kind of woman who wears baggy dresses to mask her girth—a tactic that never, of course, works.

 “You too,” she said, and this was true. Adam had always looked well, and ever since he had left her for a woman who was younger than their daughter, hed been looking better than ever.

 “Im glad we can do this,” he said.

 “Do what?”

 “Get together. Without hostilities.”

 “Why?” she said, not concerned about whether there was hostility in her tone.

 “Because of everything weve meant to each other. Because of our history. Because of our children.”

 “Well, fine,” she said. When they were seated, she drew a thick file folder from her bag. “Why dont we get started?”

 A waiter took their orders, and Eleanor noticed that Adam had changed his style of eating. Hed ordered eggs Benedict with sausages and home fries. He wasnt being careful anymore. When theyd lived together shed kept him on a low-fat diet to protect his heart.

 He looked over the papers her lawyer had prepared. Hed seen them already, but he evidently wanted to make sure that the agreement she was asking him to sign was the same one shed faxed him earlier in the week.

 He read through it quickly. She remembered the first few times shed watched him reading, more than thirty-five years earlier— remembered how startled shed been by the sheer speed of it.

 In the beginning— for many years, really— shed been excited even by the way he read. She had loved him that much. And yet hed chosen to throw all that away.

 She reminded herself to stay focused. She didnt want to be distracted from what she needed to get from this encounter.

 She was unhappy that she wanted to get anything from him, anything at all. It went against her nature. She would have preferred to sever all relations with him, never see him again. But she needed him to keep paying for her health insurance, and she needed him to sign over their apartment to her, and she needed him to supplement her income, and she needed him to make provisions for their daughter.

 She disliked herself for all this. Her friends had told her that there was no cause for self-criticism, much less self-loathing. They said she deserved anything she could get from Adam, since shed prepared the ground for his success by supporting him for all those years. Not supporting him financially, but supporting him by giving him time and space and quiet in which to work, raising the children virtually on her own. And it wasnt as if she were asking for a big piece of what he had: she was asking for far less than what she was entitled to by law.

 He finished reading the agreement and put it aside. “The only thing that still bothers me,” he said, “is the part about Maud.”

 “Weve been through all that. Just sign it.”

 “We have been through all that, but I still think youre making a mistake. She doesnt need special treatment— and treating her like a person who does need special treatment is the surest way to infantilize her.”

 Infantilize. What a ridiculous word. She had a moment of grim pleasure in noting that even he, the great Weller, could speak in clichés, but it was a paltry triumph, as if catching him in the act of using an awkward word could remedy the imbalance of power between them.

 “She needs extra help,” was all Eleanor said.

 Eleanor and Adam had two sons and a daughter. Their boys, Carl and Josh, were doing well: married, with healthy children, good jobs, rooted in the world. Maud, their youngest—she was twenty-nine—was bright and independent-minded and radiantly lively, but she seemed to be missing something. She seemed to be in short supply of some quality that was mysterious and unnameable, but that was indispensable if you were to navigate your way through life uncapsized.

 Maud had had two breakdowns: one during her first semester in college, one just after shed graduated. Shed been institutionalized on both occasions. Nothing comparable had happened to her since then, and the second one was eight years in the past, but after youve seen your daughter fall apart, you cant stop worrying that shell fall apart again. You cant, at least, if youre a mother. A father evidently can.

 The waiter brought their food. Eleanor had ordered a grapefruit, but when he set it down in front of her she remembered that she wasnt supposed to eat grapefruit. Her doctor had told her that they intensified the effect of the medications she was taking. She hadnt eaten one in months, but this morning shed ordered it on automatic pilot, since she used to like to share a grapefruit with Adam when they had breakfast together in the old days.

 “Im not going to fight you on this,” Adam said, “but I want to put it on record that I think youre making a mistake.”

 “Its duly noted. Sign it.”

 He removed a pen from one of the inner pockets of his sport jacket. It was a fountain pen—a Montblanc. A very expensive pen, which must have been a birthday present from Thea. Not a present that made sense for him: he was always losing pens, and hed surely lose this one within a month. Eleanor had another flush of shabby triumph: hes left me for a woman who doesnt understand what he needs.

 But she couldnt actually be so sure. Adam did look better than he had in years. He was sixty-three but he could have passed for fifty. Eleanor was fifty-nine, and feared she could have passed for seventy.

 “What have you been up to?” he said. “Hows work?” Eleanor was a psychologist. She used to tell him stories about her clients, but her sense of professional ethics had grown keener over the years and shed finally stopped telling him anything. He never seemed to have noticed the change.

 “Busy,” she said. “Very busy.”

 “Ive been busy too. My little vacation already seems like a distant memory. I would have liked to stay longer in France, but after I broke my ankle I didnt trust French medicine to fix me up. It was a wonderful week, though. We were—”

 She put her hand on his.

 “Adam. I didnt ask you what youve been doing. I dont want to know. You hurt me very deeply, and I dont want to hear about any of your ‘wonderful weeks. I dont want to hear about any of your wonderful minutes.”

 “Fair enough. I suppose there isnt anything left to say, then.”

 “I suppose not,” she said.

 Since all of your minutes are wonderful now, she thought.

 “I hope you wont mind if I order another cup of coffee.”

 While he drank his coffee she tried to keep silent, but she wasnt sure she could. She had always played the role of family peacemaker, even when she didnt want to. She found it impossible to let a tense silence go on too long. She could do it with her clients, but she couldnt do it with people she loved, and, despite everything hed put her through, she still loved Adam. She didnt trust him; she didnt like him; she would never consider getting back together with him; but she had lived the largest part of her life with him, and they were joined forever through their children, and she knew shed never be able to stop loving him.

 “Maud should be getting her Ph.D. in the spring,” she said.

 “I know. She made me write down the date of the convocation.”

 “She wants you to be proud of her.”

 “I am proud of her. And I wish I could be there. I havent had the heart to tell her yet, but unfortunately Im already committed to this Jewish book festival in Prague.”


Copyright © 2006 by Brian Morton

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy,

recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission

in writing from the publisher.

Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be submitted online at www.harcourt.com/contact or mailed to the following address: Permissions Department, Harcourt, Inc., 6277 Sea Harbor Drive, Orlando, Florida 32887-6777.

Product Details

Morton, Brian
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Domestic fiction
Psychological fiction
Literature-A to Z
Edition Description:
Trade Cloth
Publication Date:
9 x 6 in 1.38 lb

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Related Subjects

Fiction and Poetry » Literature » A to Z

Breakable You Used Hardcover
0 stars - 0 reviews
$17.50 In Stock
Product details 368 pages Harcourt - English 9780151011926 Reviews:
"Publishers Weekly Review" by , "While the story of two broken couples — one by infidelity, one by tragedy — contains a number of maudlin moments, this polished novel's touchy-feely title belies the trenchant humor of its take on contemporary New York, especially its literary scene. Adam Weller — one of the more engaging scoundrels in recent fiction — is an aging, semirenowned novelist whose star is on the wane. Petty, egocentric and devious, he has left his wife, Eleanor, for a beautiful, ambitious younger woman, Thea. Through a series of improbable events, he acquires a late rival's long-lost, unpublished manuscript, a masterpiece which he appropriates and sells as his own, in hopes of reviving his flagging career. Eleanor, an Upper West Side therapist, struggles to recover from their breakup, even as an old college sweetheart tries to reconnect with her. Meanwhile, their daughter, Maud, a philosophy grad student with a history of depression, enters into an unlikely but intense affair with Samir, a man haunted by the death of his young daughter from a previous marriage. The interwoven plots proceed briskly toward what could be a spectacularly melodramatic climax, but despite occasional contrivances, Morton (Starting Out in the Evening) brings the novel to a quietly moving conclusion. (Sept.)" Publishers Weekly (Copyright Reed Business Information, Inc.)
"Review" by , "For some readers, Brian Morton may still be an undiscovered treasure. He won't be for long."
"Review" by , "This packed novel about the vagaries of love and grief takes place in a New York straight out of Woody Allen....Inside his broad comedy of manners is a hearfelt novel about the redemptive power of suffering."
"Review" by , "Breakable You...is written and imagined with a sure touch that achieves a somber beauty."
"Review" by , "Morton...recognizes that meaning is expressed mostly through subtleties...[he] is especially skilled with subtle humor."
"Review" by , "Breakable You embodies a rare lyricism — not the lyricism of the literary, but the lyricism of life itself."
"Review" by , "[Morton] is a deeply compassionate writer, unafraid to treat the largest themes...in an earnest, generous spirit."
"Review" by , "Morton is the rare writer equally invested in people and ideas."
"Review" by , "Entertain from first page to last because the characters are so full of life and humor."
"Review" by , "In this polished, affecting novel, [the characters'] stories intertwine and uplift."
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