The Review of Contemporary Fiction

John's Wife by Robert Coover
Robert L. McLaughlin

Robert Coover. John’s Wife. Simon & Schuster, 1996. 428 pp. $24.00.

Over a thirty-year career, Robert Coover has given us ground-breaking fiction that, while making us laugh, cuts to the heart of the stories that define our world and to the terrible truths about storytelling itself. John’s Wife, his brilliant new novel, is his thirtieth anniversary present to his readers. In it, Coover weaves his various characters’ voices and stories into complex structures that create, then unmake, then re-create the world of contemporary America.

The novel is set in a small town, probably in the Midwest and probably near the present time (these contexts are presented with a fairy-tale-like ambiguity). It is narrated from the points of view of dozens of the town’s inhabitants in a stylistic roundelay, each paragraph telling a story about a character, his or her friends or enemies, or the town itself, then moving on to another character. As the stories move on and come around, we piece together the history of the town, the characters’ relationships, and the key events that have affected both. At the heart of all of these, providing a center and an anchor, are John and John’s wife. Son of a politically connected real-estate speculator and son-in-law of a builder, John is the town’s first citizen, cutting deals, obtaining land, building malls and developments and race tracks, and getting richer and richer. He employs many of the townspeople and those he doesn’t, even his friends, he relates to as a medieval lord, dispensing largess, buying loyalty, rewarding and punishing. His ruthlessness in pursuit of what he wants is exemplified by his betrayal of his father-in-law, Barnaby: after stealing control of his company, John replaces the city park Barnaby designed with a characterless and poorly functioning (but profitable) civic center—mockingly named after Barnaby—along the way foiling an unfriendly takeover attempt by Barnaby and causing the old man’s crippling stroke. In John is revealed the incompatibility of capitalism and democracy: capitalism is about getting money and power; democracy is an attempt—futile, John thinks—to protect the powerless from the powerful.

Where John is respected and feared, John’s wife is universally admired in a Jacqueline Kennedy sort of way: she is unfailingly kind, involved in every charity and civic project, sexually desirable but untouchable. Perhaps unknowable as well. Vague to begin with—we never know her name—she becomes less and less determinate, scattering or fading right before her neighbors’ eyes. In this she mirrors the novel. As it progresses, the characters’ stories are less and less able to structure their lives or their town, and, as they fail, lives, physical laws, even time and space fail as well. At the novel’s climax, the annual Pioneers Day celebrations, all the town’s nightmares, the fears the stories are supposed to repress, assert themselves and run wild.

John’s Wife is absorbing in the way that good gossip is; it is funny, moving, shocking, revealing, thought-provoking. Moreover, it combines up-to-the-minute analysis of America’s social, political, and economic dilemmas with metafictional speculation about the nature and function of stories and, most impressive, shows us how the two are very much the same. [Robert L. McLaughlin]


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The Review of Contemporary Fiction John's Wife by Robert Coover Robert L. McLaughlin Robert Coover. John’s Wife. Simon & Schuster, 1996. 428 pp. $24.00. Over a thirty-year career, Robert Coover has given us ground-breaking fiction that, while making us laugh, cuts to the heart of the stories that define our world and to the terrible truths about storytelling itself. John’s Wife, his brilliant new novel, is his thirtieth anniversary present to his readers. In it, Coover weaves his various characters’ voices and stories into complex structures that create, then unmake, then re-create the world of contemporary America. The novel is set in a small town, probably in the Midwest and probably near the present time (these contexts are presented with a fairy-tale-like ambiguity). It is narrated from the points of view of dozens of the town’s inhabitants in a stylistic roundelay, each paragraph telling a story about a character, his or her friends or enemies, or the town itself, then moving on to another character. As the stories move on and come around, we piece together the history of the town, the characters’ relationships, and the key events that have affected both. At the heart of all of these, providing a center and an anchor, are John and John’s wife. Son of a politically connected real-estate speculator and son-in-law of a builder, John is the town’s first citizen, cutting deals, obtaining land, building malls and developments and race tracks, and getting richer and richer. He employs many of the townspeople and those he doesn’t, even his friends, he relates to as a medieval lord, dispensing largess, buying loyalty, rewarding and punishing. His ruthlessness in pursuit of what he wants is exemplified by his betrayal of his father-in-law, Barnaby: after stealing control of his company, John replaces the city park Barnaby designed with a characterless and poorly functioning (but profitable) civic center—mockingly named after Barnaby—along the way foiling an unfriendly takeover attempt by Barnaby and causing the old man’s crippling stroke. In John is revealed the incompatibility of capitalism and democracy: capitalism is about getting money and power; democracy is an attempt—futile, John thinks—to protect the powerless from the powerful. Where John is respected and feared, John’s wife is universally admired in a Jacqueline Kennedy sort of way: she is unfailingly kind, involved in every charity and civic project, sexually desirable but untouchable. Perhaps unknowable as well. Vague to begin with—we never know her name—she becomes less and less determinate, scattering or fading right before her neighbors’ eyes. In this she mirrors the novel. As it progresses, the characters’ stories are less and less able to structure their lives or their town, and, as they fail, lives, physical laws, even time and space fail as well. At the novel’s climax, the annual Pioneers Day celebrations, all the town’s nightmares, the fears the stories are supposed to repress, assert themselves and run wild. John’s Wife is absorbing in the way that good gossip is; it is funny, moving, shocking, revealing, thought-provoking. Moreover, it combines up-to-the-minute analysis of America’s social, political, and economic dilemmas with metafictional speculation about the nature and function of stories and, most impressive, shows us how the two are very much the same. [Robert L. McLaughlin]

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