REVIEWS

Friendship, mothering and Southern life: Ya-Yas in Bloom

Ya-Yas in Bloom by: Rebecca Well HarperCollins, 2004 ISBN# 0060195347 272 pages

"Get me a Xanax!"

This sentence, uttered by the Sidda character in the movie version of Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, became one of my favourite lines. In the movie, Sidda (played by Sandra Bullock) searches for her calming medication following a phone call from her mother, Vivi, the queen of the Ya-Ya group of friends.

I liked the nimble usage of this anxiety-relieving drug sprinkled into the movie dialogue. I henceforth attempted to use it similarly in my own life, particularly after years of hearing it mentioned with regularity, in a non-joking manner, from my own parents.

When walking my kids to school, for instance, I would mention to other parents that a Xanax would be a welcome treat for such stress-charged occasions. ("Look out for the CARS! Don't cross the street WITHOUT ME!") At the playground, with other moms, I liked to toss it into the highly appropriate, etiquette-charged banter, just to see the reaction. The drug savvy would smile; the uninitiated would look blankly at me, the knowing but disapproving would give me a glare, as if to say, "how'd you earn your uterus?" Good fun all around.

So when I picked up Ya-Yas in Bloom (HarperCollins), Rebecca Well's sequel, I was hoping for more irreverence.

To be honest, I didn't read Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood; I saw the movie only. I've added this to my list of books to read. Still, in this follow-up book, I didn't find as much sass as I'd hoped for. There were other disappointments too, but ultimately, it's still quite an enjoyable read.

Based on my experience with the movie, I was hoping for more insight into the intersection of women, friendship and drugs/alcohol. I liked how the movie had shown the mixed-up, shaken-not-stirred cocktail that was Vivi's life: a lost love, too many children in too short a time, and an accessibility to lots of booze. Watching the downward spiral was sad and revealing, but one of the many reasons why we like fiction: vicarious experience of a life you'd rather not live. Sadly, my hope for this kind of examination by the characters was never fulfilled. Oh well, there's always A Million Little Pieces.

Another disappointment occurred with the first vignette, which introduces the characters and fills in events from the Divine Secrets book. Vivi, the aforementioned Lush Mom, describes her relationship with her own mother. The set-up seems to suggest a forthcoming examination, probably wrenching, of the huge field of discomfort, angst, annoyance and love between moms and daughters. But, no. What follows is nothing like that at all. Instead, you find fairly light, happy tales from varying perspectives, including more from Sidda and her brother, Baylor.

The cheerful stories uncover the magical friendship of the Ya-Ya girls and women. They are heartwarming to read: very pleasant summer material. The writer begins by describing the developing bond between the friends when the girls are four years old. A sophisticated four, I thought. I live with a four-year-old girl who changes best friends on a weekly basis, so I had some difficulty believing in the dedication of the four Ya-Ya friends at such a tender age. Did I say "tender?" I must have meant "Machiavellian." But then, maybe the four-year-olds of this millennium are victims of too much TV and consequently demonstrate more caustic characteristics than the girls of the Ya-Ya era.

Plausibility aside, I enjoyed reading the vignettes that make up the book. Occasionally, I hope to have my paradigm shifted a little, but you can't expect every book to do that. It was amusing to read the antics and adventures of four gal pals and to be reminded of small things, like how much fun children have staying in a motel. The events in the book occur with the enduring friendships of the Ya-Ya sisters as a backdrop. The bond between the four is similar to that of the four women in the TV show Sex and the City, with a few differences. No sex and no city. Oh yeah, and no designer shoes. Four women plus their extended families getting together. But hey, I'm all for depictions of women's friendships that are positive and supportive and that somehow move beyond the bickering over inadequate resources that seem to plague so many relationships between women.

Ya-Yas in Bloom does take on one tough topic: the oppressiveness of religion with its excessive male representatives. The Da Vinci Code made that legitimate water cooler angst chit chat. So, because of the divine feminine I'd encountered via that book, I glazed over the conversation about the importance of Mary to Catholic women. I probably would have found it more insightful had I read it a couple years earlier.

I was getting settled into a comfortable groove reading Ya-Yas in Bloom. My stereotypes of Southern women (generalizations that are good, really) were being confirmed. Suddenly, a lovely surprise came my way: Myrtis and Edythe Spevey. This mom and daughter team, the very flawed villains of the book, exhibit the self-consciously, morally-superior, size-16 church lady mentality that pops up throughout North American culture. Here's where the book really sparked my interest. Myrtis is the unpopular good girl who didn't get the guy that Vivi got. She and Edythe are nasty and vindictive rule followers that sew and make good casseroles. Reading about them and experiencing the twisted workings of their reasoning was delightful.

Unfortunately, I felt my delight like a guilty pleasure when I really began to examine the presentation of poor ol' Myrtis and Edythe. They are the large, unpopular girls, who follow the rules, and who still don't get rewarded. No wonder they're pissed off. The Ya-Yas are the pretty, secure girls who break rules and protect each other and for whom life generally works out. Starting to look like a high school setting dichotomy? Isn't there enough fat phobia around already? One character does attempt sympathy for the two, but it feels inauthentic. I wanted to know more about Myrtis and Edythe, the sad duo that contrast the happy and functional Ya-Yas. Why couldn't Myrtis or Edythe have had the good fortune to find supportive and healing friendships? Could such relationships have saved them from themselves?

I hope Rebecca Wells has more on these two. I like the Ya-Ya characters, but I would really like to dig into a book that has more Myrtis and Edythe, a book that gives us another glimpse into the anxiety that pervades our culture and leaves us searching for our rarely-discussed, tension-lifting pills.