Alison Lurie: Truth and Consequences

Alison Lurie is the author of many novels, including The War Between the Tates , The Truth About Lorin Jones (winner of the Prix Femina Étranger), Foreign Affairs (winner of the Pulitzer Prize), and The Last Resort . Her most recent book was Boys and Girls Forever: Children’s Classics from Cinderella to Harry Potter . She teaches writing, folklore, and literature at Cornell University and divides her time between Ithaca, New York, and Key West, Florida.

Praise for Truth and Consequences

“A delightful writer whose novels are a pleasure to read, Lurie [is] . . . a writer well worth cherishing for giving us novels that are as gracefully edifying as they are incontrovertibly entertaining.” —Los Angeles Times

“There is not one wasted word in Truth and Consequences. . . . Lurie’s language is as sharp as the claws of pain that rule Alan’s life and the pangs of guilt that threaten Jane’s. The book is delightfully readable. You are into it and out of it before you know it, but not without a fresh look at the maneuvers inside marriage.” —Chicago Tribune

“This is a comedy of adultery with a comedy of academia thrown in . . . as in the best comedies, everyone gets justice, and no one escapes it.”

—The New Yorker

“Amiable, quietly witty and readable.” —The Washington Post

“Lurie . . . is back doing what she does best.” —The Miami Herald

“Another razor-sharp satire of upper-class social norms and male-female relationships . . . a fascinating peak at the complexities of love and marriage . . . a brilliant romp . . . Lurie has created a novel that both pokes fun and commiserates with her characters, a tough feat and a wonderful read.” —Rocky Mountain News

“Alison Lurie is a master at writing about how relationships—even the best of them—can come unraveled faster than you can say ‘affair.’ Truth and Consequences strikes a chord because its protagonists must answer a difficult question we can all relate to: What happens when, as Jane repeatedly says, life is ‘all wrong’? Lurie’s characters are believable because they force us to ponder this. . . . Her ability to probe the complexity of human relationships becomes apparent, and the story offers plenty of tough insights about what it means to love someone and about the often illogical nature of human relationships.” —Star-Telegram (Fort Worth)

“Lurie’s direct writing makes her novel a compelling read, and her plot drives her characters successfully. The reader is allowed the near-voyeuristic pleasure of watching old ties die while new ones begin. Even readers who aren’t fans of romance will be enticed by Lurie’s ability to fill her story with engaging characters.” —Richmond Times-Dispatch

“A biting, funny glimpse behind the scenes of a prestigious college. . . . Lurie . . . has a light touch with college comedy, here, and her characters are true to life—spend any time around a campus and you’ll know them all . . . fun reading.” —Buffalo News

“The characters are what make this book flow. Lurie is whip-smart and very funny.”—The Associated Press

“ Truth and Consequences is wise and funny, with a sublimated sexiness that keeps the pot bubbling in a way that transcends the narrowness of academic novels. Lurie is at her best when she’s sly, and she’s plenty sly here. In Truth and Consequences , she’s in top form, carefully portraying a range of deluded people but never subverting them.” —Palm Beach Post

“Lurie is a poison-pen satirist who particularly enjoys skewering academics and writers. In this tightly wound, fairy-tale parody about the ruthless self-regard of creative people and the revenge of the good and steadfast, Lurie toys with the conventions of romance. Lurie is wickedly entertaining as she mocks everything from the ego of the artist to the bossiness of the meek, and everyone lives happily ever after.” —Booklist

FOR ALISON VAN DYKE

ONE

On a hot midsummer morning, after over sixteen years of marriage, Jane Mackenzie saw her husband fifty feet away and did not recognize him.

She was in the garden picking lettuce when the sound of a car stopping on the road by the house made her look up. Someone was getting out of a taxi, paying the driver, and then starting slowly down the long driveway: an aging man with slumped shoulders, a sunken chest, and a protruding belly, leaning on a cane. The hazy sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t see his face clearly, but there was something about him that made her feel uneasy and a little frightened. He reminded her of other unwelcome figures: a property tax inspector who had appeared at the door soon after they moved into the house; an FBI official who was investigating one of Alan’s former students; and the scruffy-looking guy who one summer two years ago used to stand just down the road where the ramp to the highway began, waving at passing cars and asking for a lift downtown. If you agreed, before he got out he would lean over the seat and in a half-whiny, half-threatening way ask for the “loan” of a couple of dollars.

Then Jane’s vision cleared, and she saw that it was her husband Alan Mackenzie, who shouldn’t be there. Less than an hour ago she had driven him to the University, where he had a lunch meeting at the College of Architecture, and where she had expected him to stay until she picked him up that afternoon. Since he’d hurt his back fifteen months ago, he hadn’t been able to drive. Jane snatched up her basket of lettuce and began to walk uphill, then almost to run.

“What’s happened, what’s the matter?” she called out when she was within range.

“Nothing,” Alan muttered, not quite looking at her. His cane grated on the gravel as he came to a slow halt. “I didn’t feel well, so I came home.”

“Is it very bad?” Jane put her hand on the creased sleeve of his white shirt. Crazy as it was, she still couldn’t quite believe that the person inside the shirt was her husband. Alan wasn’t anything like this, he was healthy and strong and confident, barely over fifty. This man had Alan’s broad forehead and narrow straight nose and thick pale-brown hair, but he looked at least ten years older and twenty pounds heavier, and his expression was one of pain and despair. “You said at breakfast you were all right—anyhow, no worse than usual. . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“If you want to know, I had a fucking awful night, and now I’m having a fucking awful day.” He moved sideways so that Jane’s hand fell from his arm, and made a slow detour around her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” She was following him now, speaking to his long stooped back. How could I not have known him? she thought. It wasn’t my fault, it was because the sun was in my eyes and he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was surprised, that’s all, the way you are when you run into neighbors when you’re abroad, so at first you can’t quite identify them. But Alan is your husband , her conscience said. You should know him anywhere.

“No.” He paused by the kitchen door. “Well, maybe. You could help me off with my shoes. It just about kills me to bend over. And if you’re going upstairs, you could bring down my pillows.”

“Yes, of course.” It occurred to Jane for the first time that there was a pattern here. Lately, Alan usually refused any offer of assistance at first, but soon corrected himself, asking for various objects and services. On other occasions he would wait longer, until she was somewhere else in the house and in the middle of some other activity, and then he would call for help.