Someone To Talk About

            When my brother was in elementary school, his teacher led the class into reading a funny story about a baseball team’s antics and misadventures. At the conclusion of the story, she made a writing assignment: a paragraph about what made the story so funny. As she surveyed the room, noting all the diligent young writers, she saw that Thomas had not put pencil to paper. Standing over him, the teacher whispered, “Thomas, why aren’t you writing the paragraph?” An athlete even at a young age, Thomas replied, “Because nothing about it was funny.”

            I feel exactly the same way about one of Cassandra King’s earlier novels,

The Sunday Wife. The outrageous situations and the churchy-dialogue are meant to be funny. The book cover depicts an ocean, white sand, a beach chair, and blue skies. I'll usually enjoy a book with that setting. Not so, here.

       The main character, Dean (short for Willidean), performs the role of “preacher’s wife” with as much grace as she can muster. She is not the woman she portrays, not the woman her husband, Ben, pretends that she is and insists that she become.

            Dean and Augusta, an audacious woman who says and does pretty much whatever she dreams up, become fast friends. Augusta is married to Maddox, a very wealthy mover-and-shaker in the small town. Both women have underlying characteristics which show them to be who are not, trying to survive the lives enveloping them.

            Ben’s church is affiliated with the United Methodist denomination. The church ladies, the church leaders and their committees, the gossips, the magnifying glass under which Dean lives, the parsonage and its inspection committee, along with her sanctimonious husband contribute to one big ball of angst in her life and my stomach. The use of very-Methodist vocabulary, titles, and situations make the whole setting too close for my comfort. Though the women friends do what most preacher’s wives only dream of being able to do, getting themselves into situations similar to those in “Let’s Give Them Something to Talk About,” I found all the vignettes to be contrived, but still too close for comfort.

           While I made some of my dearest friends in the various United Methodist churches he served, I was far more comfortable when I belonged in the congregation as a member rather than a “preacher’s wife.” Many of the best pastors I have ever encountered are United Methodist and I grew spiritually under their guidance; the graces of their sweet wives, however, never rubbed off.

The book goes back to the Library this afternoon. Removing it from my home is almost cathartic. The dichotomous memories of my stint as a Methodist “preacher’s wife” retreat to their proper place in my memory bank.