Publisher: Random House
A Gate at the Stairs is a kaleidoscope of insightful observations on the monotones of everyday life and human foibles in the face of adversity. Set in a Midwestern town, the novel plays itself out in a chronological manner, interspersed with flashes of flashbacks, as a series of experiences that the protagonist Tassie undergoes in a particular period of time.
Tassie, an unpretentious twenty-year-old, leads a cocooned life, going through the motions of college life and a part time babysitting job, when her life is overturned and she is thrust from her haven into the real, harsh ways of the world. Involving a mysterious boyfriend, a weird employer, and a personal tragedy waiting to happen, this book is a stoic narration about a girl enduring personal turbulence, and maturing in the process.
The book, however, turns out to be more of the author’s sounding board than that of the protagonist. The author seeks to make statements on an assortment of themes like terrorism, racism, adoption, dysfunctional families, love, religion, war, and death using the protagonist as her mouthpiece. But sadly, the beauty of her message doesn’t translate through the voice of Tassie, because the plot doesn’t pull through.
Written in the first person, the author chooses to keep no secrets from her readers, and reveals too much too quickly. In the subplot about Tassie's brother Robert, it becomes apparent early on that a terrible fate awaits him. At least three instances are a dead giveaway -Tassie's brushing off her brother’s apprehensions about joining the military; the brother prematurely revealing the way he wants himself buried; and Tassie's forgetting to reply to his email. The sense of a tragedy looming becomes official in P.258: And here between us passed a look of pale apprehension, some past, some future, the details of which I couldn’t yet know, but each blasting into the room and meeting there, draining the blood from our faces. After this, it is just a wait, for when, or on which page, the brother will be killed off. It certainly robbed the plot of its tension.
The lack of suspense and credibility also plagues the subplot about her boyfriend Reynaldo. It defies logic why he‘s still dawdling in his apartment if “they” (cops?) have marked him a jihadi suspect. Tassie's launching into a tirade against jihad is a bit out-of-character, given that she has been portrayed as a meek, non-confrontational person; evidently, here the protagonist functions as the author’s mouthpiece. That the boyfriend listens to her spiel and proffers explanation is even more unexpected. The exchange of words between them at this point is poorly narrated; it comes through as artificial and unconvincing. There are a host of other unresolved questions in this subplot - the scene about her blood stain in the apartment was left unresolved. Upon careful reading, it becomes apparent that the subplots about the brother and boyfriend have been concocted to draw an implied parallel in the philosophical hallucination scene where Tassie encounters the apparitions of Robert and Reynaldo - the soldier and the terrorist.
The subplot on Sarah’s wretched past exposes another frantic attempt to hold the plot together. The author struggles to depict an extreme account of neglect to convince the readers as to why the agency would revoke the adoption. The book can be so much better if the author does away with this subplot, or at least conjures a credible case of neglect and a more palatable aftermath.
The subplot about the adoption of the black toddler into the white household makes for a delightful read. The conversations of the support group, the cacophony of voices and opinions are realistic, which in itself is not easy to accomplish. There’s one little grouse though – why is there a need to make Mary-Emma the toddler “spectacularly pretty?” “Everyone loved a beautiful baby, no matter what,” says the protagonist. It would be interesting to see how the story plays out if she had been an ordinary looking child.
The author has artistically nailed a somber mood throughout the book, reflecting the gravity of its many themes. A sense of solemnity permeates even during its funny or lighter moments. The pace is uneven- too little happening at the beginning, a flood of action towards the end. The writing style is superlative. At times however, the descriptions and the imagery get excessive, and meanders away from the story; be it the random descriptions of the squirrel that lay dead on the road, the university stadium through the seasons, or the flowers that grow in the yard. The luscious sample of food writing is delectable, but it quickly gets tedious. And of some farcical imagery - “I could peer up her nostrils, the weave of tiny hairs like the crisscross of branches seen from the base of a tree”- sometimes the less said the better. Not that the descriptions aren’t interesting; they are remarkably well-written and original, but without the backbone of a solid plot, they read like a pointless exercise in creative writing.
As for the title A Gate at the Stairs, its interpretation can be subjective. Having a restraining gate is like living in a safety bubble, one imagines that one is secure, but life proves otherwise; the experiences of Tassie show that nothing can prepare or shield one from the roller coaster ride of life. “Life was unendurable, and yet everywhere it was endured.” P.432. A gate could be an allegory for a sense of safety, or protection, because Tassie endures and overcomes. There’s no conclusive statement about the significance of the title though; it can mean different things to different readers – with good or bad repercussions for the book. An aimless plot catering to a medley of themes can potentially leave the reader as deluded and clueless as Tassie herself. Much as I admire the author’s lyrical prose and her insights on universal questions, I wish she builds a strong, foolproof plot that holds the book together and embodies the power of her prose. If the author does not infuse her message more carefully into the book, we can foresee her readers and reviewers question - “What’s the whole point?”
