The Party
Two sisters navigate the world of not-so-glamorous parties, undeserving men they inexplicably want to impress and overstaying their welcome.
Evelyn is our protagonist, young, lanky, wishes she were more honest and wild. Moira is older and bolder and braver and bustier and a bit of a bully. An older sister who wields her power out of protection, and jealousy. There’s a jazz band, an afters, and a big mansion. Also, lots of self-loathing and unnecessary competition.
My favourite bit was the end. The very last bit. It’s in a café. Or maybe a chippie. Doesn’t matter!
I don’t mind an unoriginal story. So long as it’s well told, with plenty of jokes and musings and truths I can feel hugged by when I read. Silly youthful truths about wanting what someone else has:
a trait, a boy, a girl, a war. Truths about seeing the beauty of the thing you want and seeing its danger, but nonetheless wanting it. Envy is a wriggly beast who drives a shiny red convertible and drives you to do mad mad things.
In this case, girls dance for boys they don’t even find interesting. One watches on from the staircase, the other patiently in her room. All for the admiration of one another. (I hope).
Then we girls purge ourselves of it all by holding hands and skipping to some romantic scene in a café. Imagining ourselves in some coming-of-age sequence: we are always “coming of age” I guess.
I say your smudged eyeliner is Parisien-chic, you say my headache is just so brat and it’s all better and more fair to ourselves than self-loathing and regret.
What’s fair anyways? She should have punched him in the face.