to write a biographical remembrancenof her late husband, always declined,nin part, she said, because of her “lacknof any gift as a writer.” She did, however,nagree to write some “random notes”non the composer and his works. Theynare, for the most part, as schoolgirlishnas this one:n”When he returned to America thenextraordinary difference he found inna New England autumn was entrancing.nThe vivid colors —every shade ofnred and yellow—made him feel thatnthe trees were flaunting defiance tonthe idea of death … It is this feelingnthat led him to write the compositionnThe Joy of Autumn. “nProbably not coincidentally, Mrs.nGrumbach’s narrator, Caroline Maclaren,nsounds very much like this. Unfortunately,nher subject is less suited tonthe style. Marian MacDowell, at least,nwas recounting those bucolic episodesnfrom which her husband was supposednto have drawn inspiration for hisnunabashedly romantic, and often sentimental,nmusic. Perhaps he deserved nonbetter. Caroline Maclaren, on the othernhand, writing in “freer times,” is determinednto write “extraordinary truths,”nwhich in Chamber Music include loneliness,nbarrenness, masturbation, incest,nhomosexuality, and syphilis—in short,nthe stuff of the modern novel.nEven so, there is a certain appropriatenessnto the simplicity of Mrs.nGrumbach’s narrative style because itntakes on that deliberately understated,nhushed, “poetic” tone which is the hallmarknof a certain tawdry kind of confessionalnliterature to which ChambernMusic helongs. It is especially appealingnto feminist writers, like Mrs. Grumbach,ninterested in showing the tragicnextinction of the unmoored, sensitivenfeminine soul in a world of men.nVjaroline’s father dies when she isnnine, and her mother, overcome by thenloss, remains forever after emotionallyncomatose, oblivious to everything butngrief. Already equipped with that deli­ncate sensibility that is to make her suchna cloyingly sentimental memorialistnyears later, Caroline expresses a^desirento study piano, apparently because thenpiano is a sensible thing: “I wanted ton. . . stroke those soft ivory strips, eachnwith its slight lip, and the rounded edgesnof the black keys . . .” She studies withna Mrs. Seton who never says a word tonCaroline in six years of lessons. At anrecital Caroline meets her future husbandnin this exchange, one of theirnlongest.nless life, among which is Caroline’snfailure to reach a woman’s full, ovulatorynmaturity, is added duplicity, which isnhelped along by Caroline’s insipidity.nWhen she discovers love letters addressednto her husband from a formern(male) student, she considers them annextension of that “unfathomable alliancenamong men of talent.” And whennRobert comes to suffer more and morenfrom pustular rashes of growing intensity—well,nshe fails to put one and onentogether, so to speak. The truth aboutn”f./’.(•/>;.”’i /• .V/.v.v/i- IH’CIMIU-; a parahli’ ol rcnjii Iniman rcgi-niTiition a.s (iarolinc ixjvrii.niiNn-iixuiil ii«aktninj; in a iciliijin Rlaiiiinshiji iiili .Anna . .. ‘n— (.’.umin<)iiu’i.’uln(a (“aiholii- jiiurniil of opinion)n111- lusli roMi.iniuism i^l HIT scenes .n. from s!ari ro linish. .sfareK and classiialn”The young man standing next to menholding his cup carefully said, ‘younmust be Caroline Newby.’n’Yes.’nTm glad to meet you at last. Mrs.nSeton speaks often of you. My namenis Maclaren. Robert Maclaren.’ Henlaughed a little. ‘Robert Glencoe Maclaren.nMy mother calls me Rob.’ “nNot only does his mother call him Rob,nbut she shares a bedroom with him,nas Caroline discovers when she goes tonEurope with Robert after their marriage.nThis occasions a good bit of jealousy,nboth cold and silent. Luckily, Carolinenkeeps a diary. Relations reach a kind ofncrisis when Caroline discovers hernmother-in-law upon her son’s bed performing,nas it were, a ritual of frustratednlove.nWhen they return to America—he anfamous composer, she a “duster of pianonkeys”—life is little better, even sansnmaman. Robert, listening to the musicnin his head, grows increasingly self-absorbed,nquiet, and sexually disinterested.nMoreover, to the tragedies of this love-nnn- hn— .i’ir Yorl linns Bixik- Kcvicu-nher husband’s illness must finally comenfrom Anna, the young, buxom nursenwho attends the last, viscous stages ofnRobert’s syphilitic death and with whomnCaroline enjoys a short, but nearly perfect,nlesbian affair.nAppropriately enough, nowhere isnthe self-consciously artless narrativentone of this morally repellent story morenapparent than in the hymn to lesbiannlove which ends it. Anna’s “glowingnflesh and warm heart,” her “gentle,ncapable hands,” her “low, charmingnvoice,” her cutely eccentric folkways,nher cutely eccentric homilies on gardening,nher tight, scrubbed skin, her candorn—all conspire to melt Caroline’s frozennheart (her metaphor). So perfect is theirnunion that the terrible silence of Caroline’snearlier life is transformed. Therenis “no need for talk,” for instance, whennthey are working together in the garden,ndisentangling a plant’s roots: “Ournfingers came together around the stem.nWe looked up and smiled at each other,nholding hands in the fragrant soil surroundingnthe young roots of the wisterianvine. In such silent but telling waysnAnna spoke to me.” Even with suchn• ^ • H H H H H H I OnJanuary/February 1980n