Lizzie, the narrator of Jenny Offill’s impressive third novel Weather, is ‘enmeshed’ with her brother, according to her psychologist-cum-meditation teacher. The word ‘mesh’ returns a few pages later, in a podcast, referring to the interconnectedness of different species: ‘a better term than “web”, they think’. With its paradoxical meaning of both containing spaces and joining things together, ‘mesh’ could be used to describe the unusual form of this novel, which is written in short paragraphs, separated widely on the page, yielding a patchwork of Lizzie’s fragmentary thoughts and observations about life in contemporary New York, and the people caught up in it. If Lizzie is enmeshed with her brother, a former addict who will struggle with a new marriage and baby, there’s also a host of other characters caught in the mesh of her life. There are obvious main players, such as Lizzie’s son and husband, but affectionate weight is given to the novel’s many bit-parts as well, such as the assortment of eccentrics she encounters as a university librarian — ‘the elderly gentleman who keeps asking me to give him the password for his own email’, and ‘the blonde girl whose nails are bitten to the quick, who stops by after lunch and leaves with a purse full of toilet paper’ — or Mr Jimmy, whose car service Lizzie continues to use only because she’s worried that she might be the only customer he has left.
When Lizzie starts working for her former tutor, a successful podcaster, Offill extends Lizzie’s mesh to take on an environmental resonance.
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