Grim Innovation

In the House falls into the great tradition of grim innovative books by women about moder day, middle-class domesticity. Lynn K. Kilpatrick’s interest in formalism in her terrific debut book of stories, In the House, puts her in good company, but also at risk: formal works are often charged with being distant and cold, with sacrificing passion for play. The argument goes that the reader can’t form an emotional attachment to the characters because she is so busy studying and appreciating the intellectual structure that has been erected around them. And yes, some formal works do strike me that way. Strict Oulipo sometimes bores me, though I may like the idea of whatever restriction is being imposed. But the formal wall can work the opposite way too—it can reveal the narrator indirectly, slyly shine a dim light on the narrator’s flaws, point us toward an emotional reason for the barricade: the narrator’s insecurity or nervousness perhaps, or her wariness or distrust, her dishonesty. The formal conceit can bring a dark or comic depth to the characters. Vladimir Nabokov’s Pale Fire (1962) and Lydia Davis’s stories come to mind. Lynn Kilpatrick’s In the House works this way as well.