I finished Armistead Maupin’s Maybe the Moon last night.
I have mixed feelings about this novel. On one hand, it’s full of likable characters in interesting situations. On the other, it has graphic sex scenes and an unhappy ending. I read somewhere that the main character was based on a real person. That is the only thing that makes the ending tolerable.
Here’s one of my favorite scenes from the novel. It is told from the point of view of Cady, who is 31 inches tall. Renee is her roommate and helper.
Looking for another way out, I reached over and tucked my hand into hers—my “baby starfish,” as Renee calls it, into her huge catcher’s mitt—and told her it was time to lighten up. Hand holding almost always works on her, but I save it as a last resort to keep from wearing out the effect. Also, there’s an unsettling sort of come-to-Mama thing to happens when the great and the small converge sentimentally. I’ve never been completely comfortable with it.
This novel classifies as memorable but not (for me) particularly good. Deciding what to do with such books is part of winnowing down my library. After thinking about it for a while, I have come to the conclusion that “memorable” is not enough. There must be some other purpose a book can serve or it has to go. I’m afraid this one is headed for the Chopping Block.