Infidelity hits the mark deftly
Precise, powerful story of one affair challenges our conventional idea of love
The precise description of the mundane is no easy task. Our daily lives, with their veneer of simplicity and repetition (walking the dog, going to the office, picking up the kids) are often the most complex of places and the true source of most human drama. This is especially true in relationships between men and women, and their descriptions in literature. In Infidelity, Stacey May Fowles turns a keen eye on one such scenario.
Veronica is a smart thirtysomething living in downtown Toronto with her stable, attractive boyfriend. Charles Stern is a successful middle-aged poet with an attractive, capable wife, a house in a fashionable neighbourhood and an autistic son. In the world of middle-class expectations, neither of them are in need. In effect, their lives are “good enough,” but, as one chance meeting at a party proves, maybe “good enough” — our longing for comfort, familiarity, perceived security — is never really good enough.
The chance meeting turns into an affair and Charlie and Ronnie, as they are known, quickly become the “bright spots” in each others’ lives. That witty conversation over peach schnapps leads to a brazen invitation to meet at Charlie’s University of Toronto office and eventually to sex with abandon on his desk. Sex with an abandon and need both Charlie and Ronnie have obviously not felt in a long time.
The power of Infidelity lies in Fowles’s intricate understanding of emotions and incredibly precise mapping out of the architecture of an affair. Sex on the desk quickly becomes clandestine meetings, daytime conversations, touching legs under the table in a bar, hotel rooms and ultimately love, tenderness and deep connection. It is because of Fowles’s complete lack of judgment that we find ourselves rooting for Charlie and Ronnie despite their double lives, and more importantly, like the characters themselves, questioning conventional notions of love and security. As Ronnie explores and questions why she is going down this road, she realizes she loves Charlie because he needs her. She has something to give, where in the “safe” life she shares with her live-in boyfriend, there is no deeper need.
At the same time, Fowles treats their partners, Aaron and Tamara, with respect. Aaron might be almost blinded from reality in his desire for stability, marriage and a baby, but he’s not a bad guy. Tamara is a smart, independent woman, but she’s also spent 20 years playing the dutiful wife and mother. It’s a relief, and kudos to Fowles, that we see her come into her own in the end.
But the lie cannot continue forever. And at some point things must come to light. Infidelity is not perfect in how it wraps up, and at times uneven in knowing when to pull back and let the natural drama of an affair take its course. But it deftly hits the mark in unravelling a very specific human journey. On a bigger level, it raises important questions about ennui, the human need for growth, expectations for security through marriage and the eventual breaking down of those expectations in the name of a more real love.