A Familiar Device and a Trope: "For the Best?" You Decide

Ann Beattie's story "For the Best" in the March 14, 2016 New Yorker opens with a familiar device: there will be a meeting of possible consequence later in the story and, of course, we are immediately curious as to what's going to happen even though we know little more about anything at this point. It's a part of human nature that writers regularly prey upon and most of the time, we're hooked.

Gerald, a well-off elderly Manhattanite is, as usual, invited to a friend's annual Christmas party, but this time a "heads-up" email sent just before the invite arrives tells him his former wife, who he hasn't seen in 31 years, has been invited as well. Just to make sure readers understand the portent of this development, we are told the email contains not just one but two exclamation points.



But a few paragraphs later, a friend who has a therapist in common with Gerald's former wife, tells him she won't show up.

There you have it: "will she or won't she?" And what in the world will happen if she does?

As literary devices go, that pretty much falls into the category of "timeless."

Of course, the answers don't come soon. Readers are first treated to a cocktail party (initially devoid of Charlotte, Gerald's ex), the depiction of which is strongly reminiscent of the flavor of certain New Yorker cartoons. You know the ones: two couples, drinks in hand, face each other in a drawing room and someone says something as only a Manhattanite would. Certain readers can be counted on to smile knowingly, others to laugh and the rest to turn the page, baffled.

Eventually Gerald and Charlotte meet up, but little of interest transpires. As it turns out, the device that got us into the story was a case of bait and switch.

Which brings us to the trope: the most important relationship a Manhattanite can have is with a doorman, or "super," in his or her building. At last, a real person. (You can find a post about a more amusing story along these lines here.)

Gerald tries hard to relate, to have a real conversation, but the doorman dumps him for a dog. This prompts a bit of belated self-reflection: he's an uptight, rich, self-satisfied snob, and evidently too old to change.

As I observed in an earlier post that can be found here, the New Yorker loves stories that depict life as a downer.