Read How to Make an American Quilt Online
Authors: Whitney Otto
How to Make an American Quilt (40 page)
DAJ: Do you believe it’s true that “the best men cook for you?”
WO: Well, you know, the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach…
1.
How To Make An American Quilt
moves between a more traditional story-telling format and a more educational series of sections that focus on the making of quilts, and the historical significance around them. What do you think of these sections of the novel? How did they add to your experience of the story?
2.
The novel plays with point of view and perspective, sometimes switching between characters. In several sections, the narrative refers to
you
. Who does this
you
refer to? How do you feel about the use of this alternating perspective?
3.
Would you consider the women in the quilting circle to be friends? Do they like each other? What purpose does the quilting circle serve in their lives?
4.
What is the effect of telling these stories through a group of main characters as opposed to focusing on a few characters? Do you like or identify with some of the characters better than others? Which ones? Ms. Otto also offers the reader a variety of stories in this novel rather than one central character. What is the effect of this variety?
5.
In an attempt to deal with her feelings of betrayal, Glady Joe uses broken fragments of china to create a sort of mosaic, or collage, on her walls. What do you make of her impulse to do this? Why does she do this?
6.
Sophia is a very physically powerful and exciting character as a young woman who undergoes a painful transformation. What do you think caused this change to take place in her?
7.
In her interview, Whitney Otto says that she would like to be considered an American writer and not a woman writer. Why does she say this? Do you agree with her? Are there certain authors that you consider specifically women writers?
8.
After the death of Constance’s husband, Em’s husband Dean takes to spending long amounts of time with Constance. They are not physically involved, yet they seem to have a powerful connection. Do you consider their relationship a betrayal of Em? Why or why not?
9.
After Laury enlists, his friend, Will, begins to call Laury’s mother, Corrina, on the phone and they discuss apparently inconsequential things. Why do you think Will does this? Why do they seem to have such a special connection?
10.
Anna and her great-aunt Pauline own a special quilt called
The Life Before
. Pauline’s employer’s wife covets this quilt. What is it about this quilt that makes it so special?
11.
Constance, by her own admission, has trouble making friends especially with other women. Yet she manages to become good friends with Marianna. What do you think is the reason for their friendship? What draws them together?
12.
At the end of the novel, Finn says, “I’ll tell you what makes me happy about marrying Sam, that is, about marrying in general: I know our marriage has just as good a chance of being wonderful as it does of missing the mark.” Why does she say this? And why would such a thought make her feel happy about marriage?
a story of love on the veranda
SUZUKI HARUNOBU
(1767–1768)
This is a story of entangled love. The figure on the right is a young man, and the woman whispering in his ear is the go-between or emissary for her mistress, who is as young as the man. The mistress watches from a crack in the screen behind the couple on the veranda. However, it is the way in which the whispering woman wraps her hand around the wrist of the young man (the young man who does not draw away) that suggests she may want him for herself
.
T
hat’s the thing about the youki singe: you can almost always count on running into someone you know. Why just this evening Theo Adagio and Gracie Maruyama literally bumped into Elodie Parker as she was leaving the café.
They have known Elodie for about three years, but their own friendship goes all the way back to kindergarten. It then flourished for the rest of elementary school, weathered time spent in separate middle schools, became revitalized when they found themselves attending the same high school. They went on to different universities on opposite ends of California, from which they graduated, and discovered they each longed to live in San Francisco. Currently they are happily settled as roommates in a moderately run-down, generously proportioned flat in the avenues.
So many nights begin this way, with Theo and Gracie walking quickly up Columbus Avenue after another uninspired day at their Financial District office jobs. While it is not their intention to stay at the Youki Singe for dinner, chances are they will end up dining on doughy gyoza and bland onion soup as the evening quietly slips away unnoticed. The limited menu also offers a truly terrible Welsh rarebit.
“Why do you even sell it?” Theo once asked the bartender.
“Because the owner read that it was a favorite of American expatriates in Paris who used to dine at La Coupole in the twenties.”
“Can it still be considered an expatriate dish if it is served
here? I mean, we’re all pretty well patriated here. Unfortunately.” Theo suffers from daydreams of a life in foreign places.
The bartender cleared away some glasses. “No one ever orders it anyway. Would you?”
Of course not. No one would. Not with all the aerobic hours required to counter a single serving of the stuff. Such is the romance of Paris.
It was never the food that brought customers into the Youki Singe Tea Room: it was the alcohol and the permissive atmosphere and the way it did not try to be anything other than what it was. It was the expensive studios that were too small for the social life the Youki Singe offered; it was the absence of family. It was the promise that each evening held. Though tonight they are here to see a German woman named Margot Mueller.
“Y
OU KNOW
, G
RACE
, I don’t really need to be here. I barely know Margot. We don’t mean anything to each other,” complains Theo. “She’s really Roy’s friend.”
Roy and Gracie have known each other since college; Theo is acquainted with him by way of Gracie. Margot is Roy’s latest flame.
“That is why I appreciate your company,” says Gracie, firmly taking hold of Theo’s elbow as if she might bolt before they arrive at Margot’s table.
Margot Mueller’s clothes are a tragic combination of current fashion favoring denim and lace. Her slightly dirty hair is tied back with what appears to be a kneesock. One hand grips her black-rimmed eyeglasses while the other holds a wet clump that used to be a cocktail napkin. But more striking than Margot’s clothes is her facial expression: brokenhearted, baffled, lost. Her face makes Theo want to pull back.
“I hate this,” whispers Theo. “I’m the wrong person for this.”
“Sweetie,” says Gracie when they arrive at Margot’s table; Margot already on her unsteady feet and collapsing, crying into Gracie’s arms.
“I
KNOW HE’S NOT MY LIFE
or anything like that,” Margot Mueller says in a slight German accent that is altogether sexier than the girl herself.
Margot blows her nose into the useless napkin. Without interrupting her, Gracie slides the napkin from under her own glass, deftly exchanging it for the sopping mess in Margot’s fist. “But he
felt
like my life. You know? He felt—he feels so—
fundamental
,” she says.
“What exactly did he say?” asks Gracie. Her hand upon Margot’s shoulder rests as lightly as a breath.
Margot ignores her question. “He’s not worth this—” She throws her arms wide as if to gather up the growing crowd in the Youki Singe in her empty embrace. “He’s really not. My God, it is so embarrassing. To behave this way publicly.” Margot turns to Theo, demanding, “How could I stay in that apartment,
our
apartment? How? Oh, let them stare.” She fumbles for her bag on the floor, extracts a pack of cigarettes with matches tucked into the cellophane, lights the cigarette.
Of course, no one is watching. This is such an old, old story that even if the people in the Youki Singe knew the particulars of Margot’s misery, it wouldn’t cause so much as a brief interruption in their own thoughts or conversations.
Theo thinks how usual all this is: the defeated posture, the unfocused, red eyes, the preoccupation, the dazed aspect, the general brokenness. The shift of love. The failure of love. Then watches Gracie in all her kindness, thinking, She is so good. Theo’s thoughts
work themselves to Roy. Then Theo is again considering Margot, surprised to find that what she does feel is guilt.
“Everyone’s been through this, right?” asks Margot. “Right, Theo?”
I
T WAS LONG AGO
when Theo won the heart of Gracie’s first boyfriend. They were fourteen; Gracie was crazy about him; Theo didn’t consider him one way or the other. Then, without warning, he withdrew his affections from Gracie, leaving her bereft.
Theo, with the conviction of a crusader fighting for the meek, confronted the boy. Why, she demanded, did he walk away from Gracie? What did he want anyway?
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I like someone with cool clothes.”
His answer was so unexpected that it immediately disarmed Theo. As his unabashed, sincere shallowness brought her up short, curiosity overtook righteousness.
“Oh,” she said, “like who, for example?”
“Debbie Dean dresses cool.”
Debbie Dean’s indisputable homeliness drove her mother to spend irrational sums on her daughter’s wardrobe in an effort to correct nature. Because her mother had such disregard toward reality, not to mention a predilection for snobbery, and Debbie’s personality left much to be desired as well, Theo had supposed this was all evident to the boy.
“And she can’t be taller than me,” he continued.
“Anything else?” asked Theo.
“I like someone who makes me laugh,” he said. “Someone like you.”
Theo could feel her face warm to the unexpected thrill of attention. “I make you laugh?”
“I like you.”
“But you can’t,” she said. “You really can’t.”