American housewife Stories

Helen Ellis

Book - 2016

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Subjects
Published
New York : Doubleday [2016]
Language
English
Main Author
Helen Ellis (author)
Edition
First edition
Physical Description
xi, 188 pages ; 20 cm
ISBN
9780385541039
  • What I do all day
  • The wainscoting war
  • Dumpster diving with the stars
  • Southern lady code
  • Hello! Welcome to the book club
  • The fitter
  • How to be a grown-ass lady
  • How to be a patron of the arts
  • Dead doormen
  • Pageant protection
  • Take it from the cats
  • My novel is brought to you by the good people at Tampax.
Review by New York Times Review

These stories of American ê housewives begin benignly enough: They grocery shop. They host co-op board soirees. They invite rule-breaking doormen to lunch and dismember them. They bid on estate sale jewelry that could be filled with teaspoons of cyanide. They dabble in taxidermy. Macabre does not even begin to describe this collection steeped in the Southern Gothic tradition. Flannery O'Connor would turn green with equal parts sick and envy. "Southern Lady Code" and "How to Be a Patron of the Arts" are conduct manuals parceling twisted bits of advice like "When a guest says your meatloaf looks like a football, don't tell the woman that her husband is obviously gay." Despite an outlandish premise, "Dumpster Diving With the Stars," the book's highlight, has real heart: A struggling novelist retreats into housewifery until she decides to compete on a reality television show against John Lithgow, a Playboy Playmate and Mario Batali. The book is riddled with pop culture allusions - from Beyoncé to Miley Cyrus to Lululemon. But these topical references might date the book and risk alienating readers unfamiliar with what's trending on TMZ. It is a critique raised only because this dark, deadpan and truly inventive collection is one you'll wish to relish long after its sell-by date.

Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [May 10, 2016]
Review by Booklist Review

*Starred Review* Ellis' 12 short stories about women under pressure are archly, acerbically, even surreally hilarious. By extracting elements from the southern gothic tradition, Shirley Jackson, and Margaret Atwood, Ellis has forged her own molten, mind-twisting storytelling mode. Her pacing is swift and eviscerating, and her characters' rage and hunger for revenge are off the charts. In The Wainscoting War, two furious women in facing condos do diabolical battle via a barrage of increasingly alarming e-mails over the decor of their shared hallway. Ellis takes on reality TV in the perfectly crafted Dumpster Diving with the Stars, a breath-halting balance of slashing absurdist humor and rich and authentic emotional sensitivity. The same tricky strategy works powerfully in The Fitter, an ambushing fable of comedic invention and sneaky heartbreak. After reading Ellis, readers will never approach book club benignly again: think Fight Club (1996), instead. With monstrous children and cats, hopeless husbands, and covertly dangerous women, Ellis takes down the entire housewife concept with a sniper's precision. These are delectably revved up, marauding, sometimes macabre tales of ruined marriages, illness, infertility, crass commercialism (literary product placement), desperation, ghosts, even murder, featuring women of shrewd calculation, secret sorrows, and deep sympathy.--Seaman, Donna Copyright 2015 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Ellis, a professional poker player and author (Eating the Cheshire Cat), turns domesticity on its head in her darkly funny 12-story collection, featuring hausfraus in various stages of unraveling. These wives are not like the perfect 1970s-mom Carol Brady, the blue-collar Roseanne Conner, or even the tightly wound Claire Dunphy. Ellis immediately sets the tone in "What I Do All Day," about a modern Stepford Wife-she is "lucky enough to have a drawer just for glitter"-with bite. In the rest of the collection, women become involved in increasingly hostile epistolary e-fights over wainscoting in a shared hallway ("The Wainscoting War"), speak in codes that require translation ("Southern Lady Code"), and take their book club to a whole new level ("Hello! Welcome to Book Club"). One wife finds a fiendish way to contend with a domineering mother-in-law and the son she raised ("Dead Doormen"); another finds that having a significant following on social media doesn't save her from her book sponsor's ruthlessness in actually getting the thing written ("My Book Is Brought to You by the Good People at Tampax"). Ellis hits the satirical bull's-eye with a deliciously dry, smart voice that will have readers flipping the pages in delight. Agent: Susanna Einstein, Einstein Literary Management. (Jan.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

Ellis's (What Curiosity Kills) darkly funny collection is a box of bonbons laced with absinthe. Many of the stories feature books to some degree-deep knowledge of commercial fiction helps a character succeed on the reality show Dumpster Diving with the Stars; corporations sponsor novels (and those authors who lightly skim their contracts may be unpleasantly surprised by the consequences for missed deadlines); and a very intense book club has unusual expectations for new members-while others skewer such topics as bra fitting, escalating disputes with neighbors, and parsing the difference between what Southern ladies say and what they mean. Kathleen McInerney, Rebecca Lowman, Lisa Cordileone, and Dorothy Dillingham Blue provide appropriately sweet readings with real bite underneath. VERDICT Recommended for fans of quirky humor. ["The hilarity of each premise will pull in readers, and the twists will keep them glued to the pages": LJ 12/15 starred review of the Doubleday hc.]-Stephanie Klose, Library Journal © Copyright 2016. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

The wives in these guffaw-out-loud short stories by novelist Ellis (The Turning Book: What Curiosity Kills, 2010, etc.) are a wonderfully wacky crew. At first glance, the women in this pointedly peculiar collection may seem like familiar charactersjealous wives, inconsiderate neighbors, procrastinating writersyet, often, it's not long before they and their stories build from a chug to a mad hurtle, take a sharp turn in an unexpected direction, and careen completely and crazily off the rails. In "The Wainscoting War," two neighbors correspond about their shared vestibule, and over the course of a handful of emails, build from "Thank you for the welcome gift basket you left outside our apartment door" to a high-stakes face-off in a common hallway at high noon. In "The Fitter," one of the book's sweeter, gentler stories, the wife of a small-town Georgia man with a "pilgrimage-worthy" gift for fitting women with the perfect bra"part good old boy, part miracle worker"reluctantly releases him to the woman she suspects will replace her after she succumbs to the illness that has rid her of her own "body meant for tight sweaters." In "Dead Doormen," a woman who initially appears to be a perfectly devoted housewife, catering to her husband's needs in the vast Manhattan prewar penthouse apartment left to him by his mother, slowly comes into focus as something significantly more sinister. The 12 stories here cheekily tackle subjects ranging from neighborhood book clubs to reality TV shows, and while a few of them feel, sadly, like filler, breaking up the madcap momentum, on the whole, they are deliciously dark and deliriously deranged. This amusingly offbeat collection treats us to an unusual array of characters as if it were offering up a plate of clever canapes. Maybe just don't try to devour them all at once. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

WHAT I DO ALL DAY Inspired by Beyoncé, I stallion-walk to the toaster. I show my husband a burnt spot that looks like the island where we honeymooned, kiss him good-bye, and tell him what time to be home for our party. I go to the grocery store and find that everyone else has gone to the grocery store and, as I maneuver my cart through Chips and Nuts traffic, I get grocery aisle rage. I see a lost child and assume it's an angry ghost. Fearing cold and flu season, I fist-bump the credit card signature pad. Back home, I get a sickening feeling and am relieved to find out it's just my husband's coat hung the wrong way in a closet. I break into a sweat when I find a Sharpie cap, but not the pen. I answer my phone and scream obscenities at an automated call. I worry the Butterball hotline ladies are lonely. I follow a cat on Twitter and click "view photo" when a caption reads: "#YUCK." I regret clicking that photo. I weep because I am lucky enough to have a drawer just for glitter. I shred cheese. I berate a pickle jar. I pump the salad spinner like a CPR dummy. I strangle defrosted spinach and soak things in brandy. I casserole. I pinwheel. I toothpick. I bacon. I iron a tablecloth and think about eating lint from the dryer, but then think better of that because I am sane. I rearrange furniture like a Neanderthal. I mayonnaise water rings. I level picture frames. I take a break and drink Dr Pepper through a Twizzler. I watch ten minutes of my favorite movie on TV and lip-synch Molly Ringwald: "I loathe the bus." I know every word. Sixteen Candles is my Star Wars. I hop in the shower and assure myself that behind every good woman is a little back fat. I cry because I don't have the upper-arm strength to flatiron my hair. I mascara my gray roots. I smoke my eyes. I paint my lips. I drown my sorrows with Chanel No. 5. At the party, I kiss my husband hello. I loathe guests who sneeze into the crooks of their elbows. I can't be convinced winter white is a thing. I study long-married couples and decide that wives are like bras: sometimes the most matronly are the most supportive. I feign interest in skiing, golf, politics, religion, owl collections, shell collections, charity benefits, school fund-raisers, green juice, the return of eighties step classes, the return of nineties grunge, a resurgence of bridge clubs, and Ping-Pong mania. I say, "My breath is the Pinot Grigio-est." I say, "I am perfectly happy not being a Kennedy." I say, "I'd watch a show called Ghost Hoarders . Why is that not a show?" I say, "You can take your want of a chocolate fountain and go straight to hell." I see everyone out and face the cold hard truth that no one will ever load my dishwasher right. I scroll through iPhone photos and see that if I delete pictures of myself with a double chin, I will erase all proof of my glorious life. I fix myself a hot chocolate because it is a gateway drug to reading. I think I couldn't love my husband more, and then he vacuums all the glitter. Excerpted from American Housewife: Stories by Helen Ellis All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.