45 pages • 1 hour read
The main action of The Corrections is set during the turn of the millennium. This is a time of great financial prosperity—at least for many—in the United States. Materialism is rampant, and hucksterism and get-rich-quick schemes abound. All of the Lamberts must navigate this heady new climate, which is at odds with the more rooted and conservative climate of the American Midwest.
Alfred Lambert wants little to do with market fads or technical innovations; however, they intrude in his life in the form of Axon Corporation, which wants to buy his patent. As Gary discovers, this patent is a key ingredient in a new neurological treatment that claims to be a quick-fix cure for everything from depression to Alzheimer’s, making it doubly relevant to Alfred. While it is still being approved, the treatment attracts the attention of many high-profile investors; Chip hears about the treatment from a financier acquaintance at an upscale New York City deli, unaware of the treatment’s connection to his family: “‘The idea,’ Doug said, ‘is your basic gut cerebral rehab. Leave the shell and roof, replace the walls and plumbing. Design away that useless dining nook. Put a modern circuit breaker in’” (96).
Doug’s description seems like a callous and frightening one, implicitly comparing a person to a broken-down house. Yet it is of a piece with the dehumanizing language that other characters use in this book. Gary, who is a banker, often imagines his own emotional state in terms of the financial market: “Declines led advances in key indices of paranoia […] and his seasonally adjusted assessment of life’s futility and brevity was consistent with the overall robustness of his mental economy” (137–38). Gary keeps a vigilant eye on his emotional state because he is terrified of being “clinically depressed” (138)—or being diagnosed as such by his wife. Caroline herself reads nothing but parenting and mental-health manuals and encourages her teenage sons’ addictions to computers and video games.
This focus on technology and self-optimization does not make Gary’s family happy, nor is Chip able to find his footing in his wealthy New York City surroundings. Gary is successful and wealthy himself, while Chip is jobless and broke. Yet both characters experience a similar brand of estrangement, coming from a capitalism-induced pressure to make themselves simpler and more efficient than they are.
All of the Lambert children wish to escape their Midwestern upbringing and are embarrassed by it in different ways. As a banker, Gary is embarrassed by his father’s cautiousness and parsimony, which he sees as “timid” and behind the times (187). Chip, as a bohemian intellectual, is embarrassed by his parents’ conservative and even backward views regarding women and minorities. Denise is a successful chef, and the elaborate and sophisticated menus that she prepares are a way of improving on her mother’s bland cuisine, like “the ‘salad’ of water chestnuts and green peas and cheddar-cheese cubes in a thick mayonnaise sauce which Enid made for festive occasions” (22).
All of the Lambert children are nevertheless unable to shake certain aspects of their upbringing and are drawn toward home in spite of themselves. Gary has inherited his mother’s anxiety about appearances and respectability and also derives genuine comfort from traditional family life. He finds himself disapproving of how materially spoiled his children are and thinks nostalgically about his own simple boyhood pastimes.
In a similar way, Chip finds himself put off by Melissa, the student with whom he has an affair; her closeness to her parents seems unhealthy to him and contrasts with his own strained and dutiful relation to his parents. Denise’s attraction to Robin Passafaro springs in part from Robin’s earnestness and lack of fashionableness, both of which remind her of Midwestern people: “[T]he word she wanted to apply to Robin Passafaro, who had lived in urban Philly all her life, was ‘midwestern’” (401).
The same quality about the Midwest that drives the Lambert children away is also what they find themselves missing as exiled East Coast adults. This is a quality of stability and unchangingness, as well as a lack of susceptibility to fads and trends. In his description of the Midwestern landscape, Franzen suggests that this quality is rooted in the region’s geography:
The light in the wood-framed windows, though gray, had a prairie optimism; there wasn’t a sea within six hundred miles to trouble the atmosphere. And the posture of the older oak trees reaching toward the sky had a jut, a wildness and entitlement, predating permanent settlement: memories of an unfenced world were written in the cursive of their branches (536).
The Lambert family is both a traditional and a dysfunctional one. Alfred Lambert is a conventional distant patriarch, while Enid Lambert is a conventional stay-at-home wife; Alfred is more focused on his job than on his children, while Enid is overbearingly concerned with them. There is little talk of feelings in the family, and much talk of following rules. Even as adults, the Lambert children feel a stifling pressure to keep up with their old neighbors back in St. Jude.
This familial environment is not merely smothering to the Lambert children but lonely and destabilizing. The orderliness and conventionality of the family does not compensate for a lack of warmth and closeness. The Lambert household seems like a sterile one compared to the noisier, rowdier households of the neighbors; while they may keep up with their neighbors materially, they cannot imitate their joyous family lives. Each member of the Lambert family is in their own orbit, even while they are stuck in a rigid familial routine: “From the street, if you paid attention, you could see the light in the windows dimming as Gary’s train or Enid’s iron or Alfred’s experiments drained power off the grid. But how lifeless the house looked otherwise” (267).
Much of the Lambert family’s dysfunction springs from an attempt to imitate an imaginary perfect nuclear family. It is only when the family members begin to acknowledge their imperfections, and their lack of adherence to this model, that they also begin to communicate. Once the family structure breaks down with the gradual loss of its patriarch figure, it becomes less brittle and more open to the outside world; at the same time, Enid stops comparing her own children so much to her neighbors’ children. Enid has always envied her neighbor Bea Meisner for her wealth and seeming happiness; however, when Bea makes an anti-gay remark during a bridge game, Enid decides to drop her as a friend. This is because Enid suspects that Denise is gay; she is therefore putting family loyalty over appearances, a rebellious but loving act.
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