Book review: Profound truth of disconnection

In her new novel Elizabeth Strout leaves her usual stomping ground of Maine and its recurring cast of characters behind, and introduces us to Artie Dam: A teacher in a Massachusetts high school. File picture: David Levenson/Getty

• The Things We Never Say
• Elizabeth Strout
• Penguin Viking, €18.99

The title of Elizabeth Strout’s latest book, The Things We Never Say, neatly summarises the overarching theme of much of her work while wryly juxtaposing with that of her previous novel, Tell Me Everything.

It brought together her two most memorable creations, Olive Kitteridge and Lucy Barton, for the first time. 

In one of their encounters, Lucy alludes to her fascination with the “unrecorded lives” of other people. 

It is a preoccupation that sustains much of Strout’s work and one that continues in The Things We Never Say.

Here, she leaves her usual stomping ground of Maine and its recurring cast of characters behind, and introduces us to Artie Dam: A teacher in a Massachusetts high school. 

Artie appears to have it all — a rewarding job, a wife and son that he adores and an enviable lifestyle, complete with a large coastal house and his own sailboat.

He is the type of soft-hearted person who saves the notes written to him by his pupils in a box in the attic. 

Reaching middle age prompts an existential turn 

But as he reaches middle age, things take an existential turn and he has an irrepressible urge to go beneath the surface, pondering the nature of free will and the authenticity of our daily interactions.

When he begins to voice such questions, he is met with bemusement verging on hostility: 

“Because to say anything real was to say things that nobody wanted to know. Or if they wanted to know, they would not care in the right way. Or even understand. It was a private thing, to be alive. He understood this now.”

There are other events conspiring to send Artie into a spiral of depression which he hides from everyone around him. 

He is also dealing with the aftermath of a tragic car accident involving his son — Strout gives a truly masterful intimation of how it occurs without actually spelling it out. 

There is also one particularly egregious act by his wife that launches a hand grenade into Artie’s life. 

His reaction might appear puzzling but chimes with reality — instead of confronting her, he withdraws, although he in turn builds a stronger relationship with his son.

While the characters of Olive and Lucy are initially hard to love, with Artie the connection is instantaneous and the emotional gut punches come quick and fast (I was blubbing early doors).

Through him, Strout encapsulates the breadth of the human condition with enviable economy.

She also explores how we can never fully understand how we appear to others. 

However, through shifting the point of view to other characters at points throughout the novel, the reader discovers what others think of Artie.

The flash-forwards where we see his impact on his students are particularly poignant, demonstrating how one kind act or words of encouragement from a teacher can literally be life-changing.

Strout also skilfully addresses the transformed cultural and political climate in the US, and beyond, as the old-school Artie becomes increasingly discombobulated by the encroachment of technology on his classroom, and despairs as once irrefutable facts are now questioned by pupils and their parents. 

A lone sentence on one page starkly captures a divided country: “The election came and went. Half of the country was stunned, the other half jubilant.”

Among all the emotional eviscerations, small cruelties and kindnesses, big lies and deceptions, Strout manages to bring elements such as Jungian psychology and the possibilities of intuition and precognition.

We also sense Strout’s own disillusionment throughout the book. Echoing the uncertainty of the times we live in, she provides no neat resolution or pat answers to Artie’s questions. 

Instead she offers us the profound truth that in a world where we are constantly connected but increasingly out of touch with our humanity, there is immeasurable value in seeing and acknowledging other people.