Review: Nothing Is Quite Forgotten in Brooklyn, by Alice Mattison

Mattison's novel begins with a snippet of a young Constance's worshipful conversation on the phone with her mother's friend, Marlene. Con's overwhelming, blind dedication to Marlene echoes her own mother's emotional dependance on her friend, and foreshadows a lifetime of looking to the throaty, worldly elder woman for advice, attention and validation.

The novel then skips forward a generation. It is 1989, and Con, a lawyer, is housesitting for her mother, Gert, while Gert is visiting Marlene. Con is upset because her 16 year-old daughter, whom she had allowed to remain at home despite the fact that Con's flighty husband was away on a trip, is not answering the phone at their home. She goes to sleep, and awakes to find that the apartment has been burgled, but only her purse and a small keepsake box of her mothers were stolen, from the bedroom while she slept. Her daughter still missing, Con then receives a call from Marlene saying that after a day of visiting Marlene's personal doctor to discuss Gert's apparent early dimensia, Gert has died in her sleep. Marlene, who had been pushing Con to be given for power of attourney over the confused Gert, now insists that she is the executor of the will. Con finally finds out her daughter is with her husband on his trip, and decides that she will get a divorce.

While going through her mother's things, Con discovers many letters from Marlene to Gert saved in a drawer. She learns that Marlene has been involved with gangsters and black market dealings, and extorted money from Gert at every turn.

Flash forward to 2001. Con and Marlene are still close. Con did divorce her husband, but the two are still close. Their twentysomething daughter, Joanna, has been in and out of rehab, and is without direction. They are not close. All three are on their way to stay with Con at her apartment.

Here's the kicker: the entire premise of the story is based on the fact that Con inexplicably FORGETS everything that happened the week her mother died. She doesn't remember that her purse was stolen until it, for some reason, is sent back to her husband's address just in time for him to stay with her. She doesn't remember anything she read in the letters, either - not the extortion, not Marlene's connection with gangsters, none of it.

Puh-leeze.

The author tries to make sense of this by interjecting her own voice as Storyteller, and saying that no one remembers details for more than a few moments, but this in no way explains her huge leap into having the main character forget several jarring events, such as a break-in, robbery, and finding out that your mother's friend, whom you have worshipped all these years, is actually an extortionist. Even when presented with small reminders, such as the name of Marlene's husband (an infamous gangster), she can't remember.

This brings me to the basic problem of the novel (other than the freak amnesia thing): Constance is pathetic. She's a terrible lawyer who urges her clients to give up because the situation is hopeless, and allows her assistant to conduct what she knows are horribly inferior interviews of key clients. She doesn't have the courage to look into her daughter's recent arrest and open a case of harrassment by the arresting officers, even though Joanna begs her to. She needs constant reassurance and petting from others. She doesn't want her ex to stay with her, then sleeps with him, and decides maybe she's still in love with him. Even when presented with a sure-case summary by Joanna's daughter of what actually happened when Gert stayed with Marlene, she lacks the gumption to do anything at all. She never. does. anything.

The worst of it is, this could have been a good book. All the bones were there, but the main character was so terrible, I really couldn't do anything but despise her.

Rating: one star. Good potential, poor execution.