ELEANOR RIGBY
by Douglas Coupland
With this novel, it is safe to say that Douglas Coupland has finally nailed the subject of modern day loneliness, right down to the little nuances. Liz Dunn, the novel’s spinster protagonist, complains, “Books always tell me to find ‘solitude,’ but I’ve Googled their authors, and they all have spouses and kids and grandkids, as well as fraternity and sorority memberships.”
A similar theme, alienation, has always lurked in Coupland's work, establishing his work as contemporary post-modern. If you've ever read his novels, you will recognize his trademark character tragedy: he or she feels empty, broken, and isolated from society. In Generation X, the characters take up nihilistic bohemia to solve this problem. In Miss Wyoming, John, a faded and jaded movie producer, walks the Kerouac path by hitchhiking and eating garbage.
In Eleanor Rigby however, Coupland does not bother with subtlety. He ensures the subject of loneliness is brought up time and time again, and by making Liz’ boring life a key aspect to her despair, we are introduced to her little niche of weirdness, and her morbid fascination with the universe. And besides, her life isn’t all that boring: she finds a dead transvestite as a kid; she goes to Rome for a high school trip and becomes miraculously pregnant soon after; she finds her long-lost adopted son and rises to the challenge of motherhood, making up for lost time with her son Jeremy, who has progressive multiple sclerosis. There are other exciting events too, but I don’t want to ruin it for you.
Like his last novel, Coupland displays a newly found maturity in his writing. His characters still question life, but in a much more straightforward manner, which is appealing in its sincerity and honesty. His beloved quirks are still present though: the references to pop culture, a sense of wonder about the universe, the search for spirituality in today’s material world. Another quirk, while still present, is also more relevant this time: Coupland likes making his characters as obscure as possible (e.g. In Miss Wyoming, Vanessa has so much information on John, she knows what hand he uses for masturbation). In Eleanor Rigby though, they do not merely suffice as plot-thickeners or character idiosyncrasies. For example, Jeremy’s ability to sing songs backwards is not thrown in for amusement - it reveals something about the bond between mother and son.
Not wanting to ruin the ending for curious readers, I will say this: I was very relieved with the conclusion of Liz’ state of affairs. For me, Coupland’s stories require closure, otherwise I’m left swimming in confusion (Hey Nostradamus! being an example). Liz’ character goes through an incredible arc, and near the end, you know that you can only be satisfied with the story if she is satisfied with her life. Thankfully, she is.
