I recently read Matrimony by Joshua Henkin. The book covers Mia and Julian’s relationship, from college to career, through courtship, marriage and lifestyle choices. It was a dry tale with despair and despondency taking the lead roles, as the reader experiences an unfulfilling marriage with both parties waiting for life to begin, only to discover after years of delusion that this was it. The characters are arrogant, and probably a good take on of some of our society who have failed to reach maturation. They are not the kind of people that one wants to know, and not well suited as subjects of voyeurism, as they lacked both complexity and human interest.

I had a difficult time with this book. The characters never seemed to fully develop and the book was written in a voice that was hard to engage. The material in the book was clumsily littered with academic posturing, the kind that is difficult to respond to while in the throes of collegiate activities, and impossible to respect afterward. My perpetual irritation toward the vocabulary used in the book definitely tainted the experience as well.

I must explain; I love a book with colorful language, with pretty prose that catches the reader by surprise and makes you want to experience again the word picture that has been painted. This is something that comes from careful use of description balanced with verbiage that enhances the flavor of the scene. In Matrimony, I was very distracted by the incongruous vocabulary list Henkin seemed to be working off of. The book was so littered with bombast language that it was impossible to taste the meat of the story. A light peppering would have sufficed; instead, it was as if the reader was being spoon fed directly from the spice cabinet. The effect made me want to gag, as the book went on for pages and pages with there being no story. Because of this, I completely cracked up on page 110 when this came up in the main character’s conversation:

“I’m the guy reading the Times Magazine who exults when they mistake ‘forego’ for ‘forgo.’ ”

“At least you’re not a prig about it.”

So much of the book is written in a priggish voice, that this comment gave me the biggest laugh of the entire novel. I actually have to wonder if Henkin’s purpose was to give his character this sound, if so, I must say he did an excellent job. I was thoroughly irritated.

The most positive moments in the book occurred as Mia went through her mother’s breast cancer diagnosis and followed her treatment. Those were moments of truth and tenderness, as Mia’s character developed and entered her own womanhood endowed with a sense of fragility and maternity. Her fear and despair was believable, and well timed. Her complexity as a character shone through the otherwise stagnant daily grind during these scenes. It was easy to appreciate the book for this aspect of the tale, especially as this challenge continued to taint Mia’s life and eventually resurfaced as she dealt with her own breast cancer scare.