Heather, the Totality by Matthew Weiner - review

Mad Men, Matthew Weiner, 51, could presumably have done whatever he wanted. That iconic, liquor-laced drama, set in the Manhattan advertising world of the Sixties, ran for seven seasons. Weiner (who had previously worked on The Sopranos) was hailed a “genius” for making a screen epic with all the ingredients of the Great American Novel: a deep understanding of the era’s social and cultural shifts, conflicted characters and whip-smart dialogue.

So when it was announced that he was writing an actual novel, expectations were predictably high. Would he produce a sophisticated take on metropolitan life in the vein of Richard Yates? A John Cheever-esque dissection of the American middle class? Or a perplexing, mundane, nasty novella about rich New Yorkers that reminds you that brilliance in one medium is no guarantee even of competence in another. Come to think of it, there was an awful lot of aimless meandering in the middle to late stages of Mad Men too.

Set in contemporary Manhattan, Heather, the Totality tells the story of Mark Breakstone, a capable, rich but modest financier and his wife, Karen, who works in publicity, has big breasts but “had no idea how beautiful she was”. For a while, she worries that she’s only marrying Mark for his money and for want of a more interesting man — indeed, he’s so devoid of charisma it feels like he’s been created as an anti-Don Draper.

They produce a daughter, Heather, who grows up to be clever, leggy, full of empathy for all living creatures and other clichés that let her be portrayed with a sad, faraway look: “The more difficult secret, which the world must never see, was the melancholy that lived just under her smile.” Because Mark and Karen’s lives lack passion they are consumed by their daughter. By the time she is adolescent Heather finds them contemptible. Their “disease of wealth… had turned them into half-people with coffee machines and cash registers where their hearts should be”.

£10.43, Amazon, Buy it now