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Writing a second novel is always a challenge, but never more so than when it has been preceded by a debut novel that garnered great sales and acclaim. The writer not only faces the usual situation where her or his strongest material already has been used, but also faces great pressure to duplicate the previous novel's success and maybe its subject matter in order to satisfy both readers and publisher eagerly awaiting the follow-up act.
Few young writers in recent years have found themselves more deeply enmeshed in that situation than Curtis Sittenfeld, whose irresistible debut "Prep" not only sold more than a half million copies, but also landed on prestigious 10 Best Books of 2005 lists, sometimes in the very top spot (Washington Post, Time magazine, Chicago Tribune).
Sittenfeld has responded to her daunting challenge with "The Man of My Dreams" (Random House, 269 pages, $22.95). It is a fine, engaging novel, one that has some echoes of "Prep," but also expands its scope and approach in satisfying fashion.
Repeating the phenomenal success of "Prep" may prove difficult with this novel (or any novel, for that matter), but Sittenfeld again writes with an undeniable talent for social observation, realistic dialogue and genuine humor. She leaves no doubt that she is a writer whose work is worth following, and definitely not some one-hit lit wonder.
"The Man of My Dreams," with its decidedly ironic title, is the coming-of-age and entry-into-adulthood tale of Hannah Gavener, a shy, awkward girl who is uncomfortable in her own voluptuous body and in most social situations with both sexes. A sensitizing childhood spent on tenderhooks around a mercurial father and in awe of a more attractive older sister hamper Hannah as she makes her hesitating way past puberty in Philadelphia to student days at Tufts University in Boston, where she is acutely aware of her lack of friends, but unsure how to remedy that.
"Her inexperience at the age of 18 makes her feel by turns freakish and amazing, as if she should be placed under glass and observed by scientists," Sittenfeld writes. "Also, in times of danger -- turbulent plane flights home, say -- it makes her feel immune. She thinks it must be impossible, against the laws of nature, to make it through high school and then die before kissing another person."
Sessions with a psychiatrist help nudge Hannah out of her shell, as do her first encounters with gal friendship and guy romance in college. But this reluctant pilgrim's progress continues to be hard-won, fitful, frustrating. Her most promising boyfriend is a castoff from her sister. She resists the allures and flirtations of her future brother-in-law during an unlikely four-person camping vacation in Alaska.
Two serious relationships finally result, although with what can only be seen as transition men, including a charismatic, yet wildly inappropriate New Zealander who tells Hannah, "Under your prim exterior, I'm sure there beats the heart of a lusty animal."
To which the flattered Hannah replies, "Perhaps a gerbil."
Just when it begins to seem as if Hannah's turn for true love will never arrive, of course it does -- an instant reconnection with Henry, her sister's ex-boyfriend, at a wedding. Suddenly, Hannah is transformed into a new woman of resolve and action, willing to take surprising risks in the name of love.
It is at this encouraging point in her life (finally!) that author Sittenfeld makes a major misstep in her novel, switching from third-person narration to a first-person letter where Hannah details all that happens.
The effect is startling and disappointing, creating the impression that Sittenfeld lost her creative nerve, or no longer trusted the approach she had used in the previous 244 pages or perhaps was searching for quick and easy exit under the press of a deadline. Whatever the reason, the reader ends up feeling cheated and manipulated by the novel's close, a bitter aftertaste.
The ending of a novel is the wrong place to make such a major mistake.
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