The always-reliable Daunt Books have recently reprinted Cassandra at the Wedding (1962) by Dorothy Baker – and it inspired me to get my copy down off the shelf. Mine is a Virago Modern Classic that I bought in London in 2011 – not my first Baker novel, that was Young Man With a Horn, but I’d heard great things about this one. And it is, indeed, great.
I told them I could be free by the twenty-first, and that I’d come home the twenty-second. (June.) But everything went better than I expected – I had all the examinations corrected and graded and returned to the office by ten the morning of the twenty-first, and I went back to the apartment feeling so foot-loose, so restless, that I started having some second thoughts. It’s only a five-hour drive from the University to the ranch, if you move along – if you don’t stop for orange juice every fifty miles the way we used to, Judith and I, our first two years in college, or at bars, the way we did later, after e’d studied how to pass for over twenty-one at under twenty. As I say, if you move, if you push a little, you can get from Berkeley to our ranch in five hours, and the reason why we never cared to in the old days was that we had to work up to home life by degrees, steel ourselves somewhat for the three-part welcome we were in for from our grandmother and our mother and our father, who loved us fiercely in three different ways. We loved them too, six different ways, but we mostly took our time about getting home.
This is the long, winding opening paragraph – it’s Cassandra speaking. She is driving home for her twin sister’s wedding – and she hasn’t seen her twin, Judith, for nine months, after previously being constantly together. In case that “only a five-hour drive” didn’t clue you in, they’re in America. Cassandra hasn’t met her sister’s fiancee, and she hides her uncertainty and wariness behind a show of ironic bravado.
The plot of the novel is pretty slight – though there are also a few dramatic moments in among the everyday. It is all about the characters, and the way they try to understand and relate to each other. Cassandra is spiky and a little unkind, pretending not to remember Judith’s fiancee’s name and dropping in hints that she could still give up on the wedding; Judith is patient but also keen to assert her independence. Their grandmother hovers in a manner that is both conciliatory and domineering. There is always the spectre (not literally) of their dead mother – whom they always refer to only by her first name.
It’s a truly extraordinary novel. Baker is so subtle, so brilliant in both the narrative and the dialogue. Inch by inch, she unveils the characters and their similar but slightly colliding worlds. And, my goodness, she is good at twins. I was surprised to discover she was an only child, as she she perfectly understands the complex relationship of twins. How they (we) tread the path of being separate people but with identities that cannot be entirely separated – and the joy and, occasionally, the pain of establishing those dynamics in adult life. Cassandra’s fears of losing her sister, and self-destructive methods of trying to maintain their relationship, are drawn so perfectly.
Impressively, Baker is equally good at the moments of high drama. I won’t spoil what those are, but one in particular is dealt with so expertly – showing us the range of emotional responses in finely-observed style. Fine observation while maintaining pace and drama is a very admirable feat.
It’s a short book, but must be read slowly to be truly appreciated. The writing is so rich, so beautiful, and so intelligent that it feels like a reminder of what literature can achieve in exploring and depicting humanity. If that feels like a wild overstatement, I apologise – but reading it felt like a revelatory experience. Don’t be surprised if you see this one on my end of year Best Books list…
