Her Fearful Symmetry
Things get weird when the barely-adult twins spot a message written on a dusty tabletop from their departed aunt, whom the reader already knew was in the tail end of the initial stages of “living” as a ghost, thanks to Niffenegger’s deft, if a little disorienting, omniscient point-of-view sleight of hand. There’s also the neighbor Martin, who drove away his wife with his extreme OCD and the twins’ mother, Edie, who is their aunt’s twin sister. Following this?
The book is divided into three parts, and a friend told me that the third part is where some people say the plot fell apart. I didn’t quite see it, but perhaps Niffenegger didn’t map things out according to her readers’ expectations. One of the twins and Elspeth concoct a risky scheme that brings the exposition to a boiling point, and within the plot itself it opens the door to a host of unforeseen complications and unintended consequences. It might be that it wasn’t exactly clear whether Elspeth’s intentions in this plan were truly benevolent (I believe they were, for the most part) — some readers might feel some cognitive dissonance in not having that matter settled. In a similar sense, we might be as a television audience poisoned to expect earth-shattering twists before a story’s closing — a result of the endless barrage of reality TV shows that rely on such a cheap, infantile maneuver as a pay off for drudging through 20 minutes of silliness.
One thing about Niffenegger’s approach to the narrative is situation the supernatural in the most real world context, similar to M. Night Shamalan’s treatment of fantastical phenomenon (Unbreakable, Signs). She delves into what might be the nature of a ghostly existence without an in extremis (heh) portrayal resulting. There are no rattling chains and no deals with the devil where there is instead a disembodied spirit that grows, learns, and whose experiences mirror that of her previous incarnated self. Though I believe she could have fleshed it out more, Niffenegger uses the concept of the separation of the body and spirit as a type of real world alienation as we see in the relationship with Julia and Valentina, the twins with their parents, Martin with Marijke, and so on. Just as those forms of alienation can be reconciled, Niffenegger suggests, so can the alienation between a soul and the body be reconciled.
I’m a sucker for extensive inner conflict, and Niffenegger missed a golden opportunity with the exposure of the ghost realm as real. Robert, who had nary a passing thought towards religion (he is a professed Marxist), barely struggles with coming to terms with objective evidence of the afterlife. It should have been worldview-obliterating, but Niffenegger played the chord without letting it ring out.
You could probably find a reason to read this book and get something out of it, assuming you enjoy any kind of fiction: the supernatural element isn’t burdensome but it’s there and it’s functional to the story. Those who have leanings toward suspense and semi-horror will regard Niffenegger’s exploration of the subject with least some compelling interest. At the heart of the story, though, is the prospect of reclaiming or reforming (or reincarnating) an identity and redeeming lost love.