Rating
The Pequod Review:
John MacDonald's pre-McGee novel Clemmie (1958) is another well-told story -- this one involving an unhappy and aimless middle-aged man (Craig Fitz) who falls into a hot summer romance with a dangerous 23-year-old (Clemmie). But the Craig Fitz character is a strange one -- he begins the book as a respectable and likable man only to make some frustratingly implausible decisions as his relationship with Clemmie progresses. I guess MacDonald intended to show the downfall of an otherwise good man, but too many of Fitz's actions are nonsensical and undermine the otherwise highly realistic story. Nonetheless, the book has several great alcohol-soaked scenes from 1950s suburbia:
He liked to drink sparingly after dinner, but now he realized he had let Chet Burney force three of his extra-potent highballs on him, and he guessed that they were the equivalent of six drinks at a bar. Chet believed firmly in the social prowess of alcohol, and when Chet and Alice gave a large cocktall party, there were many critical cases of remorse the next morning, and many earnest vows to be more careful at the next Burney affair.
Craig guessed that neither Chet nor Alice were aware that their parties were as much dreaded as anticipated. They seemed to feel that the noisier they were, the more successful. Also, such parties were breeders of the sort of anecdote Chet seemed to enjoy. "Remember the time Lew Carran decided Bunny's skirt was too long?"
To Craig it had an embarrassingly collegiate flavor, and he had long since learned to keep a cautious eye on his glass when Chet was circulating with the Martini shaker.
But this was not a party. This was family, Chet and Alice had insisted. "Just come over for some drinks and dinner, Craig. The kids eat on first shift. Then, after they're out of the way, just the three of us."
Now he realized he was slightly drunk. It was nearly midnight. Tomorrow was a working day. He knew he would feel grim in the morning. Yet he knew he should not blame Chet. His restlessness since Maura had left had made it a little easier to take that next drink, When you were not having a very good time, you hoped one more drink would help. The evening had been a little awkward merely because the four of them had been together so often. The absence of Maura made a great gap and caused unexpected silences. Craig knew that during all the time Maura would be away, from this Wednesday, the tenth of July, until she arrived back in New York, six hundred miles away, on Friday, the sixth of September, the Burneys would have him over from time to time. Not too often, as this evening had not been entirely comfortable, yet not so seldom that his terminal report to Maura would indicate thoughtlessness.
He realized that Chet was telling a story that Craig had heard many times before. Alice was sitting on the floor in front of Chet's chair. She had her cheek against the side his knee and, as Chet talked and played with her cropped hair with his blunt fingers, she wore an expression that was at once smug and dreamy. She was a small lean woman with coarse dark-red hair, delicate pointed features, large gray eyes. She was not particularly intelligent, but she had a good sense of fun. She was a superb cook, and despite three children, she kept her house gleaming. Yet the clothes she selected for herself and the make-up she used were never quite right for her. This lack of style had absolutely no effect on the impression she made on most men, and the impression she so obviously made on her husband. This was a wife who, in spite of a boyish body, in spite of an absence of the mannerisms of the temptress, was obviously very capable and very eager. And with equivalent emphasis, those favors were available only to Chet Burney.
Chet was a big-chested blond man with a boyish face that made him look younger than thirty-nine, quite a bit younger. Craig, who knew that Chet and he were only three weeks apart in age, was sometimes faintly indignant about Chet's air of youthfulness. Yet, of late, the blond hair was thinning more rapidly, and the paunch was becoming more than a hint. In another ten years the situation would be reversed.
Recommended.