Dear readers, No one warns you about the adult equivalent of monsters under the bed. Once you’re old enough for a mortgage, the really scary interlopers are snuggled under the duvet beside us. How many times have you looked over at the person making the same nighttime exhalations, bordering on apneic, that you’ve heard for eons, and wondered: Who even are you? In today’s letter I present two novels dealing with that very domestic horror: one brainy and bumbling, the other more comedic and punchy. Each is thought-provoking; I doubt you’ll hear “Honey, I’m home!” without a shudder anytime soon. —Joumana “Atmospheric Disturbances,” by Rivka GalchenFiction, 2008
Dr. Leo Liebenstein’s wife has disappeared, and frustratingly, he’s the only one who seems to have noticed. In her stead is a “simulacrum,” an “impostress”; the woman in place of his wife, Rema, carries the same purse, wears the same coat, even has the “same bangs cut straight across like on those dolls done up in native costumes that live their whole lives in plastic cases.” Clearly this is a man who’s really studied his spouse, or at least is comfortable with female figures primed for observation. Also, Rema allegedly hates dogs, but on this day his “wife” came home with a russet-colored puppy. Suspicious, or yet another of her caprices? Despite the pile of evidence to the contrary, this woman “wasn’t Rema,” Liebenstein insists. “It was just a feeling, that’s how I knew.” His unwavering certainty seems romantic until you seriously begin to wonder if he’s one of those guys who believes he is uniformly correct about pretty much everything. He is almost clinically self-satisfied; we learn that while wooing Rema, who is Argentine, he avoided mention of Borges lest he “appear showy.” Perhaps related, he is also prone to paper cuts to the ego. After he takes the contested dog out for a walk, he reports back: “She received numerous compliments, the pup. I received none.” There’s a subplot involving meteorology — specifically, Doppler radar — and one of Liebenstein’s patients who has also gone missing. Somehow, this blend of esoterica and possible psychosis results in some of the simplest, most quotidian expressions of how it feels for a couple to grow apart. “I’ve met complete strangers who remind me more of Rema than you do,” he tells not-Rema. “It’s you,” she cries in response. “It’s you who’s not yourself.” Read if you like: Local weathermen, the Hungarian Pastry Shop in Morningside Heights, Borges. “The Husbands,” by Holly GramazioFiction, 2024
It’s no shock that a bachelorette party will precede a marriage. But for one of the guests to come home from pottery painting and karaoke and drinks to a husband she’d never met … what was in that ceramic glaze, anyway? This is Lauren’s predicament, who returns to her London flat fairly soused and is greeted by a strange man. He doesn’t seem to want to rob her; he offers her a cup of tea. He also appears in the photo on her phone’s lock screen, and it becomes clear that they are indeed acquainted and, yes, married. To determine her husband’s name Lauren searches in her email. To figure out his line of work she googles him. This is de rigueur for new flings. But for a spouse? It turns out that her attic is a veritable factory of husbands: Every time one goes up, a different man comes down. One descends fully naked, making jazz hands around his genitals. Another wears shoes with defined toes. Back into the attic they go. If only it were that easy to find love — like bobbing for mates, and you don’t even have to leave the house. Gramazio is also a game designer, and that sensibility comes through in her novel. Really, this is a goofy and absurd meditation on how hard it is to commit to a life, to another human. Lauren’s partners have all manner of occupations: a painter, a swinger, an expert witness consultant. Each might have appealed to her or courted her in a version of reality that isn’t too hard to imagine. Eventually Lauren frets about whether a husband is bad enough to exchange for someone new; what if his replacement is worse? If that isn’t a scarcity mind set, I don’t know what is. Though I’d love to meet her broker, and see if any other existential real estate might soon come on the market. Read if you like: ’90s rom-coms; “Temporary,” by Hilary Leichter; “Good Material,” by Dolly Alderton. We hope you’ve enjoyed this newsletter, which is made possible through subscriber support. Subscribe to The New York Times. Friendly reminder: Check your local library for books! Many libraries allow you to reserve copies online. Like this email? Sign-up here or forward it to your friends. Have a suggestion or two on how we can improve it? Let us know at books@nytimes.com. Plunge further into books at The New York Times or our reading recommendations.
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