JENNIFER HAIGH
The author wishes to thank Claire Wachtel, Michael Morrison, Juliette Shapland, and Dorian Karchmar at Lowenstein Associates, for their extraordinary support of this book;
James Michener and the Copernicus Society of America, for their generous financial assistance; and
Dan Pope, for everything else.
Mrs. Kimble
didn’t begin as a treatise on marriage and divorce. The book, as I first conceived of it, was about a single mother and her child: Birdie (Ken Kimble’s first wife) and her son Charlie. As I wrote about these two, I became increasingly curious about Charlie’s father. I found myself very drawn to this character, a man who is defined largely by his absence. I wanted to know who he was, how he came into Birdie’s life, and where he went when he left.
Ken Kimble is what I call a “serial husband”—a man who marries again and again, who somehow, in spite of his obvious flaws, has no problem finding women to marry. It’s a phenomenon I’ve observed a few times in life, one that raises an obvious question: what exactly is wrong with these women, so willing to pledge their lives to a man they barely know? The answer, I think, has to do with the way women are socialized. We’re raised to believe that marriage is what completes us, that unless we’ve achieved that particular goal, nothing else we accomplish counts for much. This belief has survived feminism, the sexual revolution, the sweeping social changes of the past 50 years. Women, even bright, successful
women, still subscribe to it. One result of thinking this way is that we marry the wrong men.
The three Mrs. Kimbles are women of different generations; they have different expectations of men, and of themselves. Birdie is a product of the 1950s, a woman who resists learning to drive, who’s perfectly happy being a passenger. Joan is in many ways a woman ahead of her time; she chooses career over marriage in an era when few women did, but she’s ambivalent about her choices, and in the end chooses a more traditional life. Dinah, who’s much younger, expects more from a husband; she’s frustrated that Ken isn’t a more involved father to their son. Birdie, on the other hand, would have been content to do all the child-raising herself as long as Ken came home every night, paid the bills, acted like a husband, even if he wasn’t faithful to her.
Mrs. Kimble
also looks at the changing shape of family, what that word means in an era of rampant divorce, of blended families with all their prefixes: step-this, half-that. Early in the novel, Birdie’s shame over being divorced is part of the reason she drinks. She lies about where her husband is; Charlie, who’s only seven years old, picks up on her shame and starts lying about it too. At the end of the book we see something of how the world has changed in 25 years, a recognition that blended families can be quite happy and functional, prefixes and all.
The three Mrs. Kimbles aren’t victims. Ken Kimble isn’t some kind of sociopath. He is, in fact, a very ordinary man; he simply takes what is given to him. He is in some sense a blank slate, a cipher; and that works to his advantage. Birdie, Joan and Dinah are looking for different things; yet each is able to convince herself that Ken Kimble is what’s missing from her life. The novel examines how and why that happens. In that way Mrs. Kimble truly is a
meditation on marriage: why women hunger for it, what we’re willing to sacrifice in order to have it.
I hope that you enjoy
Mrs. Kimble
.
Mrs. Kimble
A Novel
by Jennifer Haigh
How did producing a full-length novel compare to writing short stories? Was it a challenge to create three distinct but intertwining narratives for
Mrs. Kimble?
Short stories are to novels what dating is to a long marriage. A new story is very exciting; there’s a wonderful sense of discovery that comes with inventing and exploring new characters. Because a novel takes so long to write, you’re still plugging away at it long after the initial glow has faded. Novelists, like spouses, don’t get to start from scratch when the novelty wears off. They’re living with the choices they made days, months, years before.
Is there a part of you in any of Ken’s wives, or in Ken himself?
I identify with all the characters in the book. More strongly with the wives, but with Kimble too. Some readers seem to disagree, but I never thought of him as a sociopath. He is in many ways a very ordinary person. He simply takes what is given to him.
The voice with which you narrate
Mrs. Kimble
is very distinctive; the sentence structure is honed without being sparse, while your dialogue sounds casual but almost always carries an emotionally charged subtext. Did this voice evolve while you were a student in Iowa, or has it always been your vehicle for storytelling?
The narrative voice of
Mrs. Kimble
is very much my voice; I think it comes through in all my work. I aim for precision in the sentences because that’s the sort of writing I admire. I have a great respect for writers who are humble, whose language allows the reader to see the story but doesn’t get in the way. Language is a window, and if the window is clean, you shouldn’t be aware you’re looking through glass.
Do you consider
Mrs. Kimble
to be a cautionary tale?
I didn’t intend
Mrs. Kimble
as a cautionary tale, just a story about life. Then again, life is instructive; we draw lessons from our own experiences and other peoples’.
Any plans for your next novel?
I am now deep into my next novel. It’s like
Mrs. Kimble
in that it involves a family and much of the story is set in the past. It’s another intimate novel, showing the insides of people’s lives. That’s what interests me as a writer. Private stories, what people think and do and say when they think no one is watching.
Mrs. Kimble
A Novel
by Jennifer Haigh
Introduction
Deftly exploring the poignant landscape of longing,
Mrs. Kimble
traces the lives of three women who marry the same opportunistic man, a chameleon named Ken Kimble. He seduces each of them with sensitivity and generosity, and with his obsessively perfected physique. But marriage reveals Ken’s true persona—elusive, workaholic, and hungry for extramarital affairs. All three of his wives are sustained by the hope that he will once again become the hero they fell in love with. For Ken’s children, the reality of their father’s absence is at once devastating and indelible. And for Ken himself, the price of maintaining illusions appears to be negligible.
Spanning four decades in the life of a tantalizingly unknowable man,
Mrs. Kimble
vividly portrays the pain of unequal affections. In a voice that is neither maudlin nor sentimental, Jennifer Haigh has
crafted a debut novel that captures journeys of the heart in a wholly original way. We hope that the following questions will enhance your discussion of this provocative triumph in fiction.
He had lived alone in a furnished apartment on Largo Boulevard with a sunny terrace and a view of the ocean; in the five months he’d lived there, no one in the building had noticed any visitors. In his apartment police found no books, no photos or personal correspondence, just recent newspapers and copies of the
Broward County Real Estate Guide,
a free publication distributed in boxes on the beach. In the bathroom were several bottles of pills, all unlabeled; according to the coroner, they were medications to lower blood pressure and cholesterol, slow a racing heart. The man had owned a dozen fine suits and three pairs of expensive running shoes. A neighbor said he’d risen at dawn each day to run on the beach. On the table next to his bed was a gold wedding band.
He’d been seen eating breakfast each morning at a coffee shop down the street—the same thing every day, black coffee and toast. He sat alone at the counter reading newspapers: a local daily, the
Miami Herald,
and the
Washington Post
.
How he spent the rest of the day, nobody knew. He was seen twice at a neighborhood drugstore, buying vitamins. He paid his rent with a personal check; five months ago he’d opened an account at First Florida bank. An associate at a local Cadillac dealership remembered selling him the car. He would remember it forever. The man had handed him sixty thousand dollars in cash.
He’d died on a Friday night, the beginning of the Memorial Day weekend. The Department of Motor Vehicles would be closed until Tuesday; pulling the man’s driving record might have taken days, but the sheriff knew someone at the DMV. The man’s Florida license was brand new; no address had been recorded from the Virginia one he’d surrendered. The Virginia DMV had an address on file but no phone number.
The body waited in the county morgue. Plaque in its arteries, an enlarged heart starved of blood. If no relatives were located, it would be buried in the municipal cemetery at the man’s own expense. His checking account at First Florida contained half a million dollars.
The police kept trying.