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Summary
Summary
A dazzling novel of Frank Lloyd Wright, told from the point of view of the women in his life
Having brought to life eccentric cereal king John Harvey Kellogg in The Road to Wellville and sex researcher Alfred Kinsey in The Inner Circle , T.C. Boyle now turns his fictional sights on an even more colorful and outlandish character: Frank Lloyd Wright. Boyle's account of Wright's life, as told through the experiences of the four women who loved him, blazes with his trademark wit and invention. Wright's life was one long howling struggle against the bonds of convention, whether aesthetic, social, moral, or romantic. He never did what was expected and despite the overblown scandals surrounding his amours and very public divorces and the financial disarray that dogged him throughout his career, he never let anything get in the way of his larger-than-life appetites and visions. Wright's triumphs and defeats were always tied to the women he loved: the Montenegrin beauty Olgivanna Milanoff; the passionate Southern belle Maud Miriam Noel; the spirited Mamah Cheney, tragically killed; and his young first wife, Kitty Tobin. In The Women , T.C. Boyle's protean voice captures these very different women and, in doing so, creates a masterful ode to the creative life in all its complexity and grandeur.
Author Notes
T. C. Boyle was born Thomas John Boyle in Peekskill, New York on December 2, 1948. He received a B.A. in English and history from SUNY Potsdam in 1968, a MFA from the University of Iowa Writers' Workshop in 1974, and a Ph.D. degree in nineteenth century British literature from the University of Iowa in 1977. He has been a member of the English department at the University of Southern California since 1978.
He has written over 20 books including After the Plague, Drop City, The Inner Circle, Tooth and Claw, The Human Fly, Talk Talk, The Women, Wild Child, and When the Killing's Done. He has received numerous awards including the PEN/Faulkner Award for best novel of the year for World's End; the PEN/Malamud Prize in the short story for T. C. Boyle Stories; and the Prix Médicis Étranger for best foreign novel in France for The Tortilla Curtain. His title's Sam Miguel and The Harder They Caome made The New York Times Best Seller List.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (6)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Rising and falling in steady rhythm, soothing even when the story unsettles and surprises, Grover Gardner's voice is a fine instrument. He delivers a stellar rendition of Boyle's reimagining of Frank Lloyd Wright's tortured relationships with his wives and lovers-and his obsession with Taliesin, his home in Wisconsin, which suffered no less than the architect or his women. Gardner, a regular prize-winner who's done more than 650 audiobooks, is familiar to audio listeners, but he strikes new notes, hurdling over difficult names and nimbly skipping from character to character. Readers will be entirely immersed in the hothouse world of the architect and his women. A Viking hardcover (Reviews, Nov. 17). (Feb.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Booklist Review
*Starred Review* The women who inspired Boyle's latest fictional improvisation on the lives of historic figures are the lovers and wives of the master architect Frank Lloyd Wright. While Wright's ambition, ego, and flamboyance are legendary, the passionate women who loved him are known primarily as the victims of lurid scandals and outright horrors. Boyle delves deeply into social and emotional territory to write imaginatively and meaningfully about the operatic drama of Wright's world, an ideal subject for this protean, caring, and wisely satirical writer, whose fascination with zealots and their followers led to his novel about Alfred Kinsey, The Inner Circle (2004), and who happens to live in a famous Wright house. Boyle's rendering of Taliesin, the cursed Wisconsin home of Wright's dubious Fellowship, is positively gothic, and for all the swift fury of the plot, this is a character-driven novel in which Boyle empathically portrays Kitty, Wright's first wife and the mother of six of his children; radical and doomed Mamah; mad Miriam; and stalwart Olgivanna. And then there's Boyles' piquant narrator, the loyal Wright disciple Tadashi Sato, whose Japanese heritage introduces racism to the story, a theme that reaches fully tragic proportions in Boyle's devastating take on the man who killed Mamah and her two children. Boyle is electrifying in this gorgeously novel of artistic conviction, exalted romance, and appalling moral failings.--Seaman, Donna Copyright 2008 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
Frank Lloyd Wright was a visionary who produced some of the 20th century's grandest architectural designs. He was also a reckless adventurer who got lucky. He liked to position structures over waterfalls, on steep slopes, at the bottom of arroyos. He designed a hotel that withstood a major earthquake. He designed private houses marred by leaking roofs and poor heating systems. He rewarded his clients with buildings that suited their needs. He ignored his clients' wishes and didn't pay his bills. He was devoted to his art. He would let nothing stand in the way of success. He was passionate and affectionate, manipulative and denigrating. By all accounts he loved - and hated - publicity. It is, in other words, impossible to sum up Wright and his accomplishments, which is exactly what makes him so rewarding a subject. The befuddling complexity of the personality keeps writers coming back. And it's this complexity that T. Coraghessan Boyle pursues with his own characteristic energy in his new novel, "The Women," approaching Wright through the lens of his messy romantic relationships. Boyle doesn't just fiddle around with familiar biographical material. He inhabits the space of Wright's life and times with particular boldness - an immersion enhanced, surely, by the fact that Boyle himself lives in the George C. Stewart house, one of Wright's early California designs. A novel that sets out to be diligently authentic in its treatment of history may deserve admiration. But it's more impressive when a subject amply documented by historians is transformed into an independent work of the imagination, and we keep reading not because our knowledge of the past is being enhanced but because the fiction earns our attention in its own right, as a verbal adventure that uses historical material without being constrained by it. In the words of Brendan Gill, Wright's biographer, "Even the most sympathetic feats of restoration carry the taint of an embalmment." Though Gill is referring to the dangers of restoring buildings, his warning elucidates the challenges inherent in "The Women." Boyle offers a reasonably accurate representation of Wright, who stands as the powerful centripetal force of the novel. Yet Boyle isn't just a restorer. After gathering the information he'll use to get the motor of invention running, he goes on to create an array of indelible characters - eccentrics so absorbed in the expression of their passions that they fail to notice or care when their actions turn destructive. The most immediately influential character in "The Women" is not Wright; it is the narrator, Tadashi Sato, a (fictional) Japanese architect who has spent several years as one of Wright's apprentices and sets out to compose a biography of his mentor. Tadashi doesn't hide the fact that his view of Wright is limited. In an introductory passage, he explains : " I was a cog in his machine for a certain period, one of many cogs, that and nothing more." It helps, he says, that he knew other apprentices, along with Wright's third wife and his children. Familiarity, though, doesn't necessarily give him access to the whole truth. At one point he asks about Wright, "But did I know him?" - a question that will resonate through the novel as Tadashi offers his own revealing yet limited account of Wright's romantic entanglements (all of it communicated with the help of his "translator," one Seamus O'Flaherty, who is also Tadashi's grandson-in-law and pops up now and then in the footnotes to vie with Tadashi as a Nabokovian arbiter of the truth). Gossip about Wright's relationships with women ran on the front page in national newspapers. Whether he reviled the attention or found it titillating, the negative publicity certainly cost him commissions. He designed his country estate, Taliesin, in Wisconsin, as a retreat where he could live - and love - in peace. Taliesin was where he went to escape the press. It was where he gathered with his apprentices and worked for long stretches. And it was where he brought his mistresses and wives. Frank Lloyd Wright with his daughter Iovanna Gardiner and his wife, Olgivanna, 1957. "The Women" wouldn't be a T.C. Boyle novel if it weren't full of antics generated by bursting passions. In this sense, the historical figure of Wright is a perfect model for Boyle to borrow and transform. Wright's reputation for impetuousness seems to have made him attractive to women who played haphazardly with their own personal attachments. The novel is divided into sections treating the major romances in Wright's life. The women involved include Olgivanna, Wright's last wife; Kitty, his first wife and the mother of six of his children; and Mamah, his lover, who was murdered, along with her children, by a servant at Taliesin. While the story of the massacre might be familiar to readers (it has been retold, most recently, in a novel by Nancy Horan), Boyle's treatment of the crime is moving and dramatic. But it also seems more dutifully bound to familiar history and therefore more predictable than the rest of the novel. The woman who really dominates this book, though, is Wright's second wife, Maude Miriam Noel. The real Miriam inserted herself into Wright's life in 1914 following the tragedy at Taliesin, writing him as a concerned stranger to offer consolation. In Boyle's version, Miriam agrees to serve as Wright's "adornment" and becomes so infatuated that she will abandon her family and devote herself entirely to Wright - loving him when he loves her and tormenting him when he rejects her. The portrait of Miriam, while the most complex of the women in the novel, paradoxically relies most on a set of stereotypes: she's a femme-fatale, Mommy-dearest, pet-rabbit-in-the-stewpot kind of figure. And yet, in fascinating ways, she keeps proving to be more. She seems to be straining to become what she thinks others expect her to be. In one indicative passage, she spends hours trying on outfits in preparation for meeting Wright. She takes one last glance in the mirror. "Then she straightened up and gave her daughter a fervent smile, feeling like an actress waiting in the wings for her cue, the whole dreary apartment suddenly lifted out of its gloom and irradiated with light." It's a bid for attraction that hints of mixed emotion - confidence compromised by desperation, joy perilously close to gloom. MIRIAM is the most important counterforce to Wright in this novel, mirroring his volatile mood swings with her own even as she tries to convince him that she is the only woman he will ever need. She may rely too easily on clichéd seductions in an effort to keep Wright to herself. In Boyle's account, though, Wright doesn't make it easy for Miriam - or for any of his other lovers. All the women in this novel are compelled to keep changing and redefining themselves. And it's Wright who remains the most contradictory of all, who continuously undermines his own ambitions, who falls in love with helpless finality and falls out of love with cool indifference. Boyle doesn't pay much attention to the concentrated effort that Wright put into his work. It may be that in pursuing Wright's emotional life, Boyle scants his intellect and artistic genius. But that seems deliberate: love, not architecture, is the focus here. At the end of the novel, it's helpful to recall the narrator's uneasiness about his limited knowledge of Wright. Surely we've learned about Wright - or about Boyle's unique, fictional Wright. We've seen what he preferred to keep hidden. We've followed him as he has blundered through his most intimate predicaments. But do we really know him? Do we know these women? Tadashi has reminded us that pieces are missing from the portrait. And our lingering uncertainty is part of the pleasure this book offers. These changeable characters contain a potential for emotional shifts beyond the page. As Wright's doomed mistress concludes late in the novel, "Feeling was all and Frank was a repository of feeling, a bank of feeling, fully invested." With his rollicking short fiction and with novels that include "The Road to Wellville," "The Inner Circle" and "Drop City," Boyle has been writing his own fascinating, unpredictable, alternately hilarious and terrifying fictional history of utopian longing in America. "The Women" adds a powerful new chapter to this continuing narrative, and it is Boyle at his best. It is a mesmerizing story of women who invest everything, at great risk, in that mysterious "bank of feeling" named Frank Lloyd Wright. Wright's impetuousness made him attractive to women who played haphazardly with their own personal attachments. Joanna Scott's new novel, "Follow Me," will be published in the spring.
Guardian Review
Like so many self-styled great men, Frank Lloyd Wright appears to have elevated selfishness to a fine art. TC Boyle's 12th novel, The Women, opens with an epigraph attributed to Wright: "Early in life I had to choose between honest arrogance and hypocritical humility; I chose arrogance." As the story opens, it is 1932 and Boyle's narrator, a fictional Japanese apprentice named Takashi Sato, is travelling to Taliesin, Wright's Wisconsin estate, to join Wright's "Fellowship", which, as Sato soon discovers, is a grandiose term for "milking money out of those gullible enough to think that [Wright's] aura could communicate anything bankable to them". Wright puts Sato to work along with the rest of his "apprentices" chopping wood, peeling potatoes, washing dishes. And what did Sato learn about architecture from his near-decade of domestic servitude? "I learned," he says, "that Taliesin was a true democratic and communal undertaking, save for the god in his machine who presided over it all in his freewheeling and unabashedly despotic way, and I saw too that a practising architect was like the general of an army, like the general of generals, and that a whole host of amenities, civilities and mores had to be sacrificed along the way to the concrete realisation of an inchoate design." As Boyle's story makes clear, it wasn't just amenities, civilities and mores that had to be sacrificed: like most people of ruthless ambition, Wright was quite prepared to sacrifice others as well - always excepting those he currently deemed necessary to his emotional wellbeing. The Women tells the story of three of the four women who had that dubious honour, working backwards from 1932, as Wright is living in comparative domestic stability with his third and last wife, Olgivanna; to his profoundly unstable second wife, Miriam Maude Noel; and finally back to the lurid tragedy that shocked and titillated the nation, and which provides the horrifying climax to Boyle's tale, the appallingly violent death of his mistress and "soul mate", Mamah Borthwick Cheney, for whom Wright built Taliesin as a retreat from the scandal created by their adulterous affair. Poor Kitty, Wright's first wife and the mother of six of his seven children, gets short shrift in fiction as in life: Boyle spares her little time or attention, preferring, like Wright, the more flamboyant personalities of the three women who became Wright's mistresses, because his current wives were curiously unwilling to grant him divorces upon demand. Boyle begins with Olgivanna, a former dancer and disciple of the mystic Gurdjieff, who finally had the backbone and survivor's instinct to hold Wright's almost comically entropic enterprises together. When Olgivanna and Wright met, he was still married to wife number two, Miriam Maude Noel Wright, southern belle, artist manque and morphine addict, whose deranged jealousy drives much of the plot. Boyle is brilliant at recreating her drug-fuelled volatility. Although Miriam had already left Wright when he took up with Olgivanna, she didn't go without putting up a tremendous fight. In what Boyle wonderfully terms "a fugue of litigious ecstasy", she threw every accusation at him she could think of, and physically abused him, while also accusing Olgivanna of being an undesirable alien. She tried to take possession of Taliesin, pursued them from the midwest to California, had them arrested, harassed him with phone calls and letters, and broke into their house and smashed it up with an axe. She finally submitted to the divorce when Wright paid her off. At which point the story jumps back in time to the beginning of Wright's affair with Miriam, as she pursued him in the wake of Mamah Cheney's murder. Their tempestuous relationship was punctuated by break-ups during which Miriam sent Wright histrionic letters, addressing him as "Lord of My Waking Dreams". Miriam knows that she is competing not only with Mamah's ghost, but also with two women very much alive, Wright's formidable mother and his jealous housekeeper, Nellie Breen, who responds to being fired by accusing Wright of violating the Mann Act by bringing Miriam to Wisconsin across state lines. Once Wright's mother dies, Miriam is able to take over Taliesin, but she can't marry Wright until Kitty grants him a divorce. Meanwhile, they travel together to Japan, where Wright has been commissioned to build the Imperial Hotel, where they part and reunite; the section ends as they finally marry. Then the narrative jumps back to the first affair, the first wronged wife, as Kitty confronts Wright's affair with Mamah, and Mamah decides to leave her own family in the name of free love. They flee together to Europe, where Mamah begins translating the Swedish feminist and advocate of free love Ellen Key, and eventually try to build a life together at Taliesin. But they are shunned by neighbours outraged in equal parts by their living in sin and "Slow Pay Frank's" perennial refusal to honour his debts. As one cook explains to Mamah as she tenders her resignation: "It's sinful, that's what it is. And sin and pay is one thing, but sin and no pay I just can't abide." And so Wright hires a Barbadian couple, Julian and Gertrude Carleton, as cook and house-servant, and goes to Chicago to work on the Midway Gardens. While he is away, Julian Carleton takes an axe to Mamah, her two children, and four other members of the extended household, before burning Taliesin to the ground. Because of the reverse plot arc, the reader knows Mamah's fate, more or less, from the outset. What remains in suspense is Carleton's motive. In fact, no one really knows why Carleton went on his homicidal rampage, although his imminent dismissal seems implicated, but Boyle adds a schematic and unconvincing contrivance: Mamah tries, quite absurdly, to educate Carleton in feminism and free love, and then fires him for beating his wife. The real irony of The Women is that of all the formidable and often admirable women in Wright's life, only the unhinged Miriam really comes to life. The others remain underdeveloped, more gestures than fully realised characters. This seems primarily a consequence of Boyle's unnecessarily convoluted and repetitive structure, and his excess of mediating perspectives. Sato intrudes regularly, not only in the personal reminiscences that open each section - and which do bring Wright rather more to life than the rest of the narrative, partly because they focus on architecture, rather than on sex - but in arch footnotes that are presumably meant to be funny, but are more often distracting and pointless. Whether it is Sato or Boyle who doesn't trust his reader to draw obvious connections is unclear. However interesting, and formative, the women in Wright's life may have been, the unavoidable fact remains that they are interesting in so far as they were involved with Frank Lloyd Wright, one of the greatest architects in history. But architecture remains in the margins of the tale, something Wright is off doing while his women pine. When we do encounter Wright, he is comically conning the locals, or "fully aroused, his face gone rubicund and his ears glistening like Christmas ornaments in the quavering light, [as he] breathed his answer against the soft heat of her lips". Really, I'd rather not. It's the continuous architecture of Wright's mind, rather than of his relationships, that is missing from this rollicking, entertaining, frustrating story of a great man's failings. Caption: article-womehn.1 As the story opens, it is 1932 and [Boyle]'s narrator, a fictional Japanese apprentice named Takashi Sato, is travelling to Taliesin, Wright's Wisconsin estate, to join Wright's "Fellowship", which, as Sato soon discovers, is a grandiose term for "milking money out of those gullible enough to think that [Wright's] aura could communicate anything bankable to them". Wright puts Sato to work along with the rest of his "apprentices" chopping wood, peeling potatoes, washing dishes. And what did Sato learn about architecture from his near-decade of domestic servitude? "I learned," he says, "that Taliesin was a true democratic and communal undertaking, save for the god in his machine who presided over it all in his freewheeling and unabashedly despotic way, and I saw too that a practising architect was like the general of an army, like the general of generals, and that a whole host of amenities, civilities and mores had to be sacrificed along the way to the concrete realisation of an inchoate design." Whether it is Sato or Boyle who doesn't trust his reader to draw obvious connections is unclear. However interesting, and formative, the women in Wright's life may have been, the unavoidable fact remains that they are interesting in so far as they were involved with [Frank Lloyd Wright], one of the greatest architects in history. But architecture remains in the margins of the tale, something Wright is off doing while his women pine. When we do encounter Wright, he is comically conning the locals, or "fully aroused, his face gone rubicund and his ears glistening like Christmas ornaments in the quavering light, [as he] breathed his answer against the soft heat of her lips". Really, I'd rather not. It's the continuous architecture of Wright's mind, rather than of his relationships, that is missing from this rollicking, entertaining, frustrating story of a great man's failings. - Sarah Churchwell.
Kirkus Review
When the artist formerly known as T. Coraghessan Boyle burst onto the national literary scene some 30 years ago, readers knew immediately that an immensely smart, versatile and entertaining new writer was staking his claim to some of the territory held by such reader-friendly wizards of narrative and rhetoric as Kurt Vonnegut and Donald Barthelme. To put it another way, Susan Sontag's sonorous declamations about the cultural legitimacy of "camp" found a lively correlative in the stories of Boyle's first collection Descent of Man (1979)six more have followed. Who could resist crisp, in-your-face tales about the wretched excesses of pillaging Norsemen, or the spectacle of Ugandan dictator Idi Amin disporting himself at a Dadaist arts festival? Then, before we'd all stopped chuckling, Boyle produced his richly imagined and detailed debut novel Water Music (1981), in which historical Scottish explorer Mungo Park's African exploits became the vehicle for vivid observations and riffs on the nature of intellectual adventuring, heroism and arduously acquired self-knowledge. Boyle's subsequent novels have ranged from visions of fear and loathing in California's drug culture to the perils of the Internetand commanded especially high visibility when reinterpreting well-known American success-and-failure stories, notably in deft fictionalizations of the complicated lives of cereal-king health faddist John Harvey Kellogg (The Road to Wellville, 1993) and innovative sex researcher Alfred Kinsey (The Inner Circle, 2004). The Women, Boyle's 12th novel, tackles another flawed American icon: the great architect and world-class egomaniac Frank Lloyd Wright (18671959), whose unique accomplishments were repeatedly compromised becauseas this novel's narrator informs us"throughout his life, especially in times of duress, [Wright] sought the company of women." That narratorJapanese architectural student Sato Tadashi, who becomes one of numerous "acolytes" laboring unpaid at Wright's huge Wisconsin estate Taliesintells, in reverse order, the stories of Wright's four great loves: the Montenegrin beauty (Olgivanna) who succeeds his fiery Southern mistress Maude Miriam Noel (a madder, more vituperative Zelda Fitzgerald), Wright's soul mate Mamah Cheney (whom he appropriates from her husband and children) and first wife Kitty, displaced by Mamah (who, like the doomed edifice of Taliesin, seems chosen to pay for the adulterous genius's sins). All of Boyle's colorful skills are fully engaged in his latest (as, to be fair, are his tendencies toward redundancy and overemphasis). It's a performance worthy of the writer who has, in interviews and on his informative website, acknowledged the influences of Flannery O'Connor, Evelyn Waugh and Gabriel Garc"a Mrquez. I'd argue that Dickens and Shakespeare also must loom prominently in the imagination of a writer so adept at the creation of improbably beguiling comic grotesques. And Boyle's warmhearted, coldly calculating, ineffably seductive and unknowable Frank Lloyd Wright may be the most beguiling of them all. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
The title of the latest installment in Boyle's ongoing series of novels on famous American egomaniacs refers to the many women in Frank Lloyd Wright's scandal-plagued life. Like John Kellogg and Alfred Kinsey, two of Boyle's earlier subjects, the great architect is contemptuous of society's rules of behavior. He elopes with one wealthy client, Mamah Borthwick Cheney, before divorcing his first wife and strays yet again while married to his second wife. Mamah Cheney, an early feminist, took center stage in Nancy Horan's skillful novel Loving Frank (2007). In Boyle's telling, it is the scorned second wife, the slightly faded but still formidable Maude Miriam Noel, who steals the show. Each of the other women gets her due, but there is only one object of lust, and that is the stylish, morphine-popping Miriam. She's a mess, but Boyle clearly loves her, and the reader is richly rewarded. As in all of Boyle's fictional biographies, the lesson is that the charismatic iconoclast is usually a rigid tyrant behind closed doors. This long novel gets off to a slow start but is well worth the effort. Recommended for most fiction collections.-Edward B. St. John, Loyola Law Sch. Lib., Los Angeles (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
