Necessary Lies

Necessary Lies

Adult fiction
The only reason I ever laid eyes on Diane Chamberlain's
Necessary Lies is that someone in Orono Public Library hierarchy
switched the adult fiction and nonfiction displays around and forgot
to send me the memo. I am not a big fan of adult fiction--too much
gratuitous sex and violence and much more than I would ever want to
know about young urban celebrity loving professionals. Thinking I
was on safe nonfiction turf (in a hurry) I picked up a book with a
haunting picture of two young girls running through a field. Back
home I discovered my error in a couple of pages. Amazingly those
pages had me hooked on the novel and the beings who came to life
within its pages.
Necessary Lies is one of these truly rare adult novels that
embues a riveting story populated with complex and nuanced characters
with a poignantly vivid sense of time and place. (Most adult
literature authors who stray from the present time either create a
thin and superficial veneer of the past or do too much telling rather
than showing. In my mind, few adult novels inhabit that just rare
space where setting adds to mood without becoming distressingly
obvious.) The plot centers around two characters inhabiting social
spheres light years apart who become inextricably involved in each
others' lives.
Ivy Hart is a teenage girl in a clan that gives new meaning to
the phrase, dysfunctional family. Because her father is dead and her
mother is institutionalized, she lives with her grandmother, a woman
whose inability to exercise restraint or common sense is symbolized by
her devouring sweets as her blood sugar tests (diabetes) give ominous
results. Her older sister, Mary Ella, and her out-of-wedlock son
round out the household. They all dwell in a primative tenant shack,
fearful of being turned out in favor of a family with strong, working
age boys. Every aspect of their life falls under the jurisdiction of
the Department of Public Welfare.
Jane Forrester, in contrast, would seem to have it made in the
shade. By wedding a pediatrician, she has gained entre into the
Junior League, country club set. Wanting to work before settling down
to raise a family, she has become a Department of Public Welfare
caseworker. However, her work conflicts seriously with her home
life. Her doctor hubby, in true 1960 southern gentleman fashion,
wants her to get over her need to work or at least be more reserved in
what she says--more like his friends' wives. He has no idea she is on
the pill to prevent the pregnancies he desires right away. Except for
one insightful woman, the country club women are a twentieth century
clique of rich mean girls.
Jane had somewhat anticipated these complications. She is truly
blindsided by the extent to which her work conflicts with her ethics.
The total control her bureau has over the lives of its clients,
caseworkers' rights to behave in invasive and demeaning ways, and a
sense that many of their decisions are based on prejudicial
stereotypes rather than actual circumstances wear on her more and
more. For instance, she is troubled by the eugenics program that
allows caseworkers to apply for involuntary sterilization of their
clients, some of whom are deceived about the procedure. Mary Ella has
been told she had her appendix out after the birth of her son. Jane
is being pressured to do the same with Ivy who has petit mal
epilepsy. She considers Ivy to be the most competent member of the
household and knows how desperately the teen wants a family.
"If Ivy were my neighbor, though, noone would think of
sterilizing her. That was the thing. The petition was because she
was poor. Poor and on welfare and unable to speak for herself."
Jane is skating on increasingly thin ice at work and home. She
is isolated from friends who could understand what she is going
through. But she can't shake the conviction that somehow she must
speak for Ivy.
Necessary Lies is one of the most powerful works of fiction it's
ever been my pleasure to read. Fans of To Kill A Mockingbird will be
especially partial to this fine novel.
On a personal note, despite being a tomboy I grew up with a burning
desire to someday have children (after going through the preliminaries
of falling in love and marrying). I have petit mal epilepsy that was
overlooked in my growing up years. I was considered a daydreamer. In
my abortive first attempt at grad school a psychology professor
commented that if she didn't know better she'd think I had petit mal.
I came back with, "You might not know better." Turns out she didn't.
I can't imagine what it would have been like to lose out on the
greatest joy in my life over something that didn't really make a
difference.
A great big shout out goes out to all those who fight against
bureaucracy and its rules because of a conviction of their wrongness.
Julia Emily Hathaway



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