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Mary, Mary, Less Contrary

That switch altered the novel significantly, in both structure and meaning. Instead of taking place during the supermodel nineties, Veronica became the reminiscences of an older woman looking back—with chagrin and amazement—at her younger, wilder, crueler self, and trying to reconcile these two people. A former model, Alison is dying of hepatitis C and working as a maid for a man who once photographed her. And while some of the most vivid passages focus on Alison’s youth—the drug-fueled photo shoots and fun parties with horrible people—the book’s emphasis is less on her past humiliations than her current humility. “When I knew Veronica, I was healthy and beautiful, and I thought I was so great for being friends with someone who was ugly and sick,” Alison remembers. “I can just hear my high, clear voice describing her antics, her kooky remarks. I can hear the voices of people congratulating me for being good. For being brave.” Being taken down a notch has cured her of her obsession with surfaces, including her own.

Like Alison, Gaitskill herself seems to have become more comfortable with the person she has turned into. She has a few new drafts in the works; she’s enjoying teaching—currently, a class on short stories, in which she contrasts older writers like Nabokov with contemporary ones. And Veronica’s nomination for the National Book Award may give Gaitskill the success that has eluded her: the literary world’s wholesale acceptance, and all the pleasures and dangers that accompany it.

Then again, maybe she hasn’t changed that much—at least in her ability to relish her slyer, more self-destructive streak. When we discussed reading reviews, she recalled with bemusement and an odd kind of pride her “perverse” reaction to a piece written by James Wolcott when Bad Behavior was published, in which the critic sneered that she depicted women as “dishrags and dickwipes, cold little biscuits slapped across Daddy’s lap.” A few years later, she met him at a party and flirted with him.

Thinking she must be kidding, I joked, “Yes, that does tend to defang people.” But she cut me off with a smile. “No, I meant it. I wasn’t simply doing it to mess with him. One or two times we had dinner. He’s a charming person. A total weirdo, but a charming person . . . He sees himself as the voice of naïveté and innocence, speaking out against these false sophisticate hipsters who just are wrong and intimidate everybody. And I think he was that at some point in his life, but he’s not that and hasn’t been that for a long time. But you know, I don’t blame him! I too would like to look at a world where everyone is nice all the time. But it just isn’t recognizable.”