Local book review: '2 A.M. at the Cat's Pajamas'
Please note: This article is published as an archive copy from Philadelphia City Paper. My City Paper is not affiliated with Philadelphia City Paper. Philadelphia City Paper was an alternative weekly newspaper in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The last edition was published on October 8, 2015.
Marie-Helene Bertino's charming debut novel tracks three Philadelphia characters on Dec. 23, "Christmas Eve Eve."
2 A.M. at the Cat's Pajamas
Marie-Helene Bertino
(Crown, 2014, 272 pp.)
Marie-Helene Bertino’s charming debut novel tracks three Philadelphia characters on Dec. 23, “Christmas Eve Eve.”
Almost-10 Madeleine is an aspiring singer coping with Catholic school and her mother’s death; dad’s a puddle of grief, so she’s on her own. Divorced teacher Sarina pines for the boy who took her to the prom two decades ago. Lorca runs the titular Fishtown jazz club, soon to be shuttered if he can’t clean up his act.
From “a dark, dark 7 a.m.” to the following dawn, this Philly native weaves fictional homes and haunts with landmarks like Rittenhouse Square and South Street. The novel’s true genius, though, is Bartino’s wry insight into her delightful characters (slighted by the inadequate term “quirky”), expressed in lean yet meaty prose. Consider this description of Madeleine’s social status:
“Madeleine has no friends: Not because she contains a tender grace that fifth graders detect and loathe. Not because she has a natural ability that points her starward, though she does. Madeleine has no friends because she is a jerk.”
Despite Bertino’s pithy assessment, the precocious kid proves a multifaceted, fierce and fun character.
Bertino’s supporting characters — from Sarina’s ex and school pals, and Lorca’s bandmates and teenage son, to Madeleine’s surprisingly human principal (a stereotypical administrator would suffice, but we’re treated to a rich character worthy of her own novel) and an advice-dispensing dream cockroach.
2 A.M. at the Cat’s Pajamas is obviously, but not distractingly, crafted by a writer who shows that less is more, and that perfectly worded less is magic. When her old beau utters Sarina’s name, “She wants to turn the sound of him saying it into a SEPTA card she can use to get around.” And, “Lorca experiences a stomachache he can only call Christmas.” The recurring image of knowing someone “the way you know in a flight, even with your eyes closed, that a plane is banking.”
Gems within a gem, this novel is the verbal equivalent of an exquisitely drawn pop-up book.
