Miranda July is always interesting and writes with appealing and strange honesty. To read a novel where the narrator is an intelligent middle-aged woman , independent and even (gasp) sexual, is a treat. How many novels have been written where an old male professor of literature or similar has an active sex life with a younger woman – yawn. All Fours shouldn’t feel so unique but is. The narrator is supposed to go to New York for a 3 week work trip and is persuaded to drive – road trip! Instead, she only makes it to a nearby town where she spots a handsome young guy working in Hertz. She holes up in a motel for the night and then… just stays.
This quote stopped me and had me sending it to my pals in one of those glorious connection moments with the note “THIS! Exactly this” – “If birth was being thrown energetically up into the air, we aged as we rose. At the height of our ascent we were middle-aged and then we fell for the rest of our lives, the whole second half. Falling might take just as long, but it was nothing like rising. The whole time you were rising you could not imagine what came next in your particular, unique journey; you could not see around the corner. Whereas falling ended the same way for everyone.”
This is a novel about someone examining aging, being a mum, wife, creative artist, friend, taking pause to look at who they are and reconnecting with themselves. It’s also about a peri-menopausal woman having a fierce crush and exploding into their desires.
I mean, it’s bonkers and all written from a point of monied privilege: the narrator can afford to take this time for personal growth and exploration thanks to a wealthy husband and personal success in an opaque arts related field,. They can leave their child and husband for 3 weeks and then reshape their life. They can pay to have a shabby motel room redecorated in an expensive plush replica of the fanciest of hotel rooms. It’s not relatable. Her lifestyle doesn’t have to be though, it’s enough that these thrilling words are written. The ending wasn’t satisfying for me, but who cares? I love that July writes this messy, complicated, eccentric stuff. Long may she continue.
Sara Crowley 