When Playing House appeared in 1973, Publishers Weekly hailed it, “A probing descent into madness that will fascinate the same audience that appreciated I Never Promised You a Rose Garden.” This nationally bestselling story of one woman’s struggle with the lasting effects of a childhood sexual relationship with her brother shocked American readers; it remains a literary work of enduring quality and value. In his foreword Philip Roth writes, “The traumatized child; the institutionalized wife; the haunting desire; the ghastly business of getting through the day – what is striking about Wagman’s treatment of these contemporary motifs is the voice of longing in which the heroine shamelessly confesses to the incestuous need that is at once her undoing and her only hope.”
To be honest, I had not heard of this novel by Fredrica Wagman. I had run across it on a few sites since it is the 35th anniversary of it's original release. It seemed so compelling, I decided to embark on the reading journey. I must say; it is truly a...disturbing book. This may be a harsh word, but it is how I felt as I was reading it and for quite a while after I finished. The unnamed main character was involved in a incestuous relationship with her brother from a young age. This did not start out as consensual, but her longing for the closeness she experienced with her brother haunts her through her adult life. Her brother is unscrupulous and just plain mean; her father was basically non-existent; and her mother seemed to have knowledge of the horrific activities.
The book is written in first-person from the girl's point-of-view as she is an adult. It is a disjointed, jarring, surreal look at her thoughts as she tries to come to terms with her past through speaking with members of the clergy, doctors, psychiatrists and her husband (The Turtle). The effects of her youth haunt every relationship and aspect of her life.
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