Literature Review

Joyce Maynard, the prison of happiness

4 reading minutes

written by Quentin Perissinotto · May 23, 2023 · 0 comment

A new novel by American author Joyce Maynard, Where Happy People Lived tells the story of a mother and wife, marked by failures and sacrifices, but also by moments of calm and smiles. A story partly inspired by her own life. And one that, yes, really moved me.

It is a novel that captures all the loneliness and sadness of unspoken rebellions. It’s a long novel that takes its time to unfold and allows for moments of quiet, a novel that indulges in the luxury of languor. And above all, it’s one of the very rare times I’ve been moved upon closing the book, so close do the characters feel to us.

Where Happy People Lived traces Eleanor’s life, from her teenage years to her life as a grandmother. The opening scene places us right beside her at the wedding of her eldest child. Standing apart, sitting motionless, she seems to float above the events and appear out of place. The story then goes back in time and unfolds as a long flashback, where we share in Eleanor's joys and sorrows, her hopes and her heartbreaks.

After a childhood devoid of love, Eleanor glimpses happiness with Cam, her first love at first sight. The excitement of their first meeting is quickly followed by the solemnity of marriage, then the cries of their first child. Until the sudden collapse. Eleanor endures it in silence; she bears it without crying out. She staggers on without making a sound. But she suffers, with the agony of docility.

«All those little hurts, those sorrows, those wounds, those regrets, the words that stung, the pain we inflict on one another—whether intentionally or not—seemed so serious at the time. Sometimes we didn’t even remember what had made us so angry, so bitter—what had hurt us so much. Or maybe we did remember, but did it really matter, in the end?”
»And there we were, finally, opening our eyes as if after a long sleep, a little dazed, blinking in the glare of the sun, simply happy to be there and to wake up."

Joyce Maynard tells us about ordinary life, without embellishing anything, but without pathos either. She depicts life in all its helplessness, its mundane dreams, and its slow cracks. I found myself completely drawn into the heart of this family intimacy, as if the lives unfolding before my eyes were those of my own loved ones. I was overcome by the same emotions as Eleanor, feeling absolute empathy. The boundary of the page no longer existed—something that never happens to me!

Where Happy People Lived is a grand fresco of despair, where immeasurable sorrow intertwines with beauty and, at times, sparkles. Where happiness is fragile and is often caught only as a reflection.