In “Liars”, Sarah Manguso’s latest novel, she explores the archetype of family life through the lens of a failing relationship. The book dives deep into the fabric of a 14-year-long marriage, ending in a harrowing divorce—it corrals you into a story that, while familiar, engages you with a crisp and investigative style of storytelling. The narrative, so engrossing, demands to be read in a single, vehement session. The reader’s fascination is piqued by the dissolution of the relationship as the authorial lens scrutinises the apathetic and inept spouse, pushing the saner half to keep things together.
The common bones of contention in every deteriorating marriage—finances, childcare, jobs, leisure, and love—are all given space to breathe in the narrative of “Liars”. The protagonists are two aspiring artists that vow to uphold each other’s dreams and ambitions. But when one receives reputable residency in Italy and the other is left out, their utopic facade of domestic and artistic nirvana starts to crumble.
The gender of the characters might not be immediately obvious from this review, but astute readers will gather that Jane, the celebrated writer and award nominee of international acclaim, and John, the struggling artist turned disgruntled businessman, are the couple at the heart of the story. John disturbs the balance of the couple and later the family, including their son, with his sporadic schemes which trigger their relocations from one corner of America to the other.
John’s one redeeming quality is his business ventures, even if they only succeed enough to fund his frequent squires back to Calgary, due to undisclosed investors requiring his attention. These brief references about the trips become an ominous leitmotif, narrating the encroaching danger in their day-to-day life. It underlines Jane’s compromised position within the marriage. She becomes the family’s silent supporter, controlling nothing but shouldering everything.
Rachel Maddow’s prequel presents a vivid tale of American fascists, albeit without thorough historical analysis. By the conclusion of the book, readers feel acquainted with the character John, complete with his eccentricities, inflated ego, unfulfilled aspirations, and negligible attention to household chores.
American author and poet Manguso, with nine books under her belt including the PEN/Jean Stein Award finalist novel ‘Very Cold People’, brings forward ‘Liars’. This is her second novel and it reveals her meticulousness with details and images, coupled with an impressively streamlined writing style. An apt choice for a narrative centred around the gradual collapse of a marital relationship.
Structured in brief, forward-reaching chapters, the book creates a compelling narrative reminiscent of Jenny Offill’s writing yet with the penetrating chill of Rachel Cusk or Gwendoline Riley’s works. ‘Liars’ offers ample hilarity for those who appreciate a healthy dose of painful irony. It’s the sort of book which may induce bitterness in many female readers similar to the raw insightfulness of Claire Kilroy’s ‘Soldier Sailor’.
The protagonist Jane notes, “A nuclear family can destroy a woman artist. I’d always known that,” but her awareness doesn’t spare her from the inevitable. Manguso conveys the disintegration through succinct, vibrant scenes plucked straight from reality.
From the inexplicable initial attraction to her partner – “I tried to understand that first ferocious hunger and couldn’t. It came from somewhere beyond reason” – to the prolonged and chaotic breakdown, she is unblinking in her portrayal. “John didn’t just need to win the fight; he needed me to agree that it was my responsibility never to say anything that might make him feel as if he’d ever done anything wrong. Feeling that he’d done something wrong really threatened his sense of entitlement.”
Manguso also accurately captures the trials of motherhood. The novel depicts how parenthood can interfere with an artist’s full immersion in her work while simultaneously showing the tender bond between Jane and her son, simply referred to as ‘the child’, a reflection of the book’s overall sarcastic tone. The struggling family trio is effectively brought to life through her prose.
By the time we reach the inevitable conclusion of the novel, we feel like we’ve come to deeply know John, characterised by his caprices, self-importance and unfulfilled dreams, as well as the startling revelation that he hadn’t been responsible for bathroom cleaning duties for a decade. The narrative isn’t solely about him, however; Jane picks through their shared history, too, attempting to decipher her own role in their marital trials.
In the latter part of the narrative, she observes a key strategy her husband employs: that perpetrating abuse isn’t the most challenging part; rather, managing the storyline is his main task. The feeling one is left with after reading Liars is one of deep satisfaction – it is as if it chronicles the successful rejuvenation of the oppressed party, synonymous to a marriage that has been consumed by fire and the subsequently triumphant emergence from the resultant wreckage.