The Emperor’s Children takes a new twist on shallow.
Her characters revel in it — her readers become absorbed in it — and then it is ripped from underneath everyone involved.
She exposes it but not in the way teen-angst books do — and not in the way stuffy historical books do either.
Messud’s prose is not at all concise. But at the same time, through all her adjectives and commas and tangents, she captivates the reader.
Through these words, she allows the reader to become lost in the story; to sympathize with her hopeless characters; and to see their flaws, their emotions and their finer attributes — she allows them to be observed in their humanity.
From the eyes of three struggling thirty-somethings, an accomplished sixty-something and a bumbling college dropout, Messud tells the story of diverging, intertwining life in glamorous New York City.
The first chapter begins with Danielle Minkoff, a semi-successful documentary producer who has been sent to Australia to research the basis for a piece on the Aborigines and their relationship with the Australian government.
The next chapter explores the woes of Bootie Tubb, who has recently employed himself as a homebody, and his bossy but compassionate mother.
And just as the reader gets accustomed to these characters, two more are introduced: Marina Thwaite, an aspiring but unsuccessful writer living off her parents’ hospitality and success, and Julius Clarke, whose job as a temp and list of failed relationships leave him questioning his role in life.
From there, the chapters delve further into the minds of these characters and link them together — through family, friendships, jobs and the city itself.
What makes this story unique is the way it is related to the reader — from a group of a very privileged and very elite society appear those who are wrought with the turmoil of superficial problems. Boyfriends, love affairs, unemployment and unfinished work take their toll on everyone in the story.
But this isn’t the Gossip Girl series, and it’s not told as such.
The novel’s premise is what keeps it from being stacked in the Teen section: though the characters immerse themselves in their facades, Messud doesn’t let them exist wholly behind their Dior sunglasses — within each character there lies a struggle.
Murray Thwaite, for example, is revered in the eyes of his daughter and nephew — they adore him for his scholarly advice and acclaimed journalistic talents. They, especially Marina, see his faults as quirks and ignore his contradicting ideals — they don’t see past his facade.
Ludovic Seeley, an Australian libertine hoping to spark a revolution with his satirical magazine, sees only Murray’s inconsistent values and will point them out to anyone who cares to hear.
Murray believes himself to be a man of accomplishment, who is above common household chores — such as taking care of the old cat that had died in the guest bedroom — and worthy of the manuscript hidden in his desk drawer: “How to Live,” Murray’s guide to life’s inevitable dilemmas and how to handle them.
Left in the middle of this battle, readers must decide who they believe the real Murray Thwaite is — and, likewise, who each character is.
These characters are not simple, and they are not superficial. From March to November, they struggle to find their way back to the path on which they belong.
But for those who haven’t had the chance to pick up a copy of War and Peace — and don’t feel left out — the symbolic meaning isn’t entirely lost.
From Julius’ doubt as to whether he is War and Peace‘s Pierre, the “solitary, brooding loner,” or Natasha, the “vivacious social butterfly” comes the story’s main point — while some in the story act upon their impulse to put up a mask, others try to break it down.
It’s the journey toward the removal of these masks that proves to be the story’s most compelling, thoroughly absorbing feature.
