The Remontle family comes together when Emma, one of their terminally ill relatives, passes away. But the ceremony of remembrance prompts both reflections and recriminations over past infidelities, parent-child relationships, and the care that loved ones owe each other—including whether the terminally ill have a right to die on their own terms, even against the wishes of others.
Paul Z. Alber’s A SMILE IN EVERY SEASON has a fascinating premise, telling the life of a sprawling, multi-generational immigrant family in Atlanta. Its particular interest lies in the lives of queer men, and in exploring “a different and more intimate side of gay Atlanta.” Characters like Devin must negotiate the latent homophobia of their community from Trinidad while adjusting to the balance of acceptance and danger in Atlanta’s gay scene; many of these men also have relationships and children with women, as well. There’s enough complexity here to carry a novel by itself. Especially combined with the Remontle family dynamics, with multiple sibling rivalries, lingering divorces, and more, this story has the raw material for a meaningful drama.
However, the text struggles to maintain focus, and the result is both tonal confusion and some friction in the storytelling. At one level, there’s unnecessary detail that detracts from the focus of a given sentence or scene. For example: “She was home at her 2-bedroom townhouse loft-styled apartment in Brookhaven by 12:30,” and phones are constantly referred to by specific brand names instead of just as phones. Meanwhile, the erotic content of the text threatens to overwhelm both the storytelling and the reader’s credulity. There may be a level of verisimilitude to this device, but A SMILE IN EVERY SEASON spends a shocking amount of time with men thinking about, touching, or speaking aloud to their own erections. It’s simply uninteresting to a reader, if not ridiculous. Even chapters told from the perspectives of female characters fall into outrageous, and sometimes misogynistic, description: when Angie struts out “[with] her nipples leading the way (up front, like little raisins trying to poke through her tights) and her tight ass bring up the rear (stretching those leotards outrageously and oh so sumptuously),” it’s hard not to burst out laughing or simply put the book down.
By contrast, the novel also moves through numerous lengthy scenes of one character, by themselves, simply reflecting at length upon the past. It’s not impossible to write such a scene effectively, but they tend to be both slow-paced and chronologically confusing. In many instances, there’s present-tense action while the character recalls the recent past and simultaneously refers to the deeper past, or vice-versa. There’s no question that the characters, with their lives and relationships, have deep histories driving them, but with such a large cast and so much intermingled chronology, the result is confusing instead of satisfying. Some formal irregularities add to the confusion: thoughts or internal monologue should generally be written in italics, but quotation marks are used here, giving the impression that characters by themselves are monologuing to empty rooms for lengthy periods of time. That in turn breaks the suspension of disbelief, but it’s also breaking the more important rule: it’s not effectively telling the reader a clear, interesting story.
There are a few missing or misplaced punctuation marks (especially quotation marks), and some typos or spelling errors as well (especially homophone substitutions). Overall, A SMILE IN EVERY SEASON needs extensive structural trimming to clarify its tone, its core story, and its intentions.
While the underlying subject matter is rich and fascinating, Paul Z. Alber’s A SMILE IN EVERY SEASON struggles to overcome its structural problems.
~Dan Accardi for IndieReader