A Review of Landscapes

Men love corners. They have the right of way as they impinge upon women on the sidewalk, at readings, in alleyways, and in the grocery line. All these cornerings are just trailing vapors of the real fear. The things men don’t just restrict but take. Plenty of books exist about what to do with the art of bad men, but changing the channel and walking on the other side of the street no longer cut it. Christine Lai’s debut novel, Landscapes, offers no illusions about or answers to this problem, but it is a fortifying read nonetheless. Instead of delivering a polemic, Landscapes probes the archive of feminist art for new answers, by blending diary entries, close-third-person narration, and criticism. The brushstrokes of a certain painting may offer a fresh state of mind. Ephemera are scrutinized, elevated to a level of significance normally reserved for major plot points.

In a near future filled with ecological and political ruin, an archivist named Penelope documents her partner, Aidan’s, historic home as they wait for his brother, Julian, to come for a visit. The family house is finally going to be demolished, now that it is beyond repair. As Penelope ponders the dense work of painter J.M.W. Turner, whose work adorns the home, the spectral role of violence against women casts a shadow over her daily chores.

Like her namesake, the wife of Odysseus, Penelope waits. Meanwhile, the prodigal son, Julian, who assaulted her long ago, sightsees on his journey home. He witnesses the desolation of the fields and carefully constructed biodomes in Italy that protect sacred sites like the Pantheon. The poor have scattered to the four corners of the earth, pleading for help at every turn. In response, Penelope and Aidan convert their home into a makeshift refugee shelter to allow those passing through a safe place to rest.

Lai alternates between portraying the structural violence of climate change and the interpersonal violence that Penelope once suffered at the hands of Julian. Reflections on Ana Mendieta, Louise Bourgeois, and Giambologna’s Rape of a Sabine Women electrify Penelope as she tries to work through her feelings toward Julian. She asks why men’s depictions of such violence present women as complicit in or even enjoying their own assault. She is haunted, flickering with rage, curiosity, and pessimism. Rape is not a plot point or a device, but a cold memory suppressing...