Perestroika in Paris

By Jane Smiley

The Gentle Genre. I first encountered this idea in a blog post I follow at Writer Unboxed, written by author Dave King. He wrote this post during the post-election vote count when the collective nerves of our country were frayed, our psyches on edge.

The best choice for readers is what might be called “gentle books,” straightforward tales of ordinary people in mostly every-day, low-key situations. No psychotics, no wrenching twists, no gore, no vampires or werewolves or demons. Often comic, sometimes inspiring, these sorts of books were popular from the thirties right through WWII and into the sixties. Gentle books – the work of Angela Thirkell, D. E. Stevenson, Elizabeth Cadell, and many others – offered readers well-written, character-driven stories that reminded them of their own lives. Gentle books continued to thrive through the sixties and seventies with Miss Read, James Herriot, and others. Garrison Keillor and Alexander McCall Smith are among those who carry the tradition on today.

After reading his comments I reflected on books in the gentle genre I have very much enjoyed. And I’m happy to report I have a new one for you. Jane Smiley’s Perestroika in Paris is a balm to the soul weary of complicated narratives and high drama. I’m not a huge animal lover. Closest I got in my early reading was Misty of Chincoteague. A dangerous thing to admit these days, I know. I was vaguely aware, as a child, that I should be watching Lassie and Flipper. As a preteen that I should be adoring Black Beauty. But Boxcar Children and Harriet the Spy were more interesting to me. Early in our marriage my husband feasted on the tender and funny stories of James Herriot in his All Creatures Great and Small (a new PBS special awaiting our needs for comfort). I enjoyed it when he read funny excerpts to me, thought wasn’t curious enough to get into the books myself.

But, hey, Perestroika was Jane Smiley’s new book. I have read all of her other books, and didn’t hesitate to dive into this one. At first I found myself waiting for the tension, her characteristic slow and subtle build-up to a coming climax,. But about a third of the way through I said to myself “oh, this is a gentle genre,” and I settled into the sweetness of the story. And the humor. And the magical ways the everyday and ordinary can take us by surprise. And I willingly trotted along behind the characters trusting it would all somehow come out right in the end.

Smiley introduces us to a thoroughbred racehorse who nonchalantly walks through the door to her stable, mistakenly left ajar by her trainer. She takes us on this equine’s unlikely journey into Paris, her meeting of an orphaned dog, a family of ducks, a snobbish raven, and a precocious young boy. Smiley weaves the story of how these animals get to know and care for one another, how they interact with human beings while also using the animals to poke fun at some of our very human foibles.

My favorite was the character Sid, the mallard who had left his partner in a pond by the Eiffel Tower sitting on her nest of eggs, abandoning her in the throes of becoming a mother to a brood of chicks. When he bumps into Raoul the raven, Sid waxes philosophical about the value of his time away as he anticipates a return to the family he had abandoned.

I think it will be a wonderful summer. I’ve gotten a lot of counseling this trip. I feel more in control and better prepared for the chaos. I am up to the challenge.

Every summer is a new beginning, that’s what I’ve learned. I don’t have to carry the past with me. My approach to the dangers of reproduction is my choice. I am in charge of who I am and how I view things. I own my fears.

I’ve had my eyes opened. We had many group discussions as we were migrating, and I was given to realize that certain experiences I had as a duckling have had a strong impact on my worldview, especially the death of Male No. 3 who was just above me in the nest, taken by a hawk right out of the middle of the group, and then the hawk, instead of flying away, swooped around us the whole time my mother was hurrying us to shelter. I mean, this is not an unusual experience for mallards, but I think that I must be especially sensitive, which is nothing to be ashamed of.

Smiley’s humor is gentle and charming. Her characters, both animal and human, made me chuckle at myself. They also restored my battered trust in humanity and reminded me that even when it feels as though we are all just bumbling about, we often stumble into connections which are not only sustaining, but nurturing and hopeful.