Book Review - Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City
Published by: Harper Perennial
Publication Date: 1978
Format: Paperback, 371 Pages
Rating: ★★★★
To Buy
Mary Ann Singleton went to San Francisco on vacation and realized she was home. Nothing her parents said could lure her back to Cleveland. Her life was finally beginning, as soon as she moves out of Connie's place, which has more kitsch than Mary Ann can stand. Connie and her were high school acquaintances and Connie happens to be the only person Mary Ann knows in San Francisco. But that won't be for long once she is embraced by 28 Barbary Lane and it's eccentric landlady Mrs. Madrigal. As Mrs. Madrigal is fond of saying, she doesn't pick her tenants, the house does. But she is responsible for the welcome joint taped to the door, and you're welcome. Across the hall from Mary Ann is oversexed Brian Hawkins, who likes being one of the only straight men in the city and views Mary Ann as a challenge. Downstairs is Mona Ramsey, Mrs. Madrigal's favorite. Upstairs, well, Mary Ann didn't even realize there was an upstairs. And in random twists of fate and happenstance that is part of the magic that is San Francisco, all their lives start to weave together and overlap and conjoin in the most interesting ways. Mona's best friend Michael "Mouse" Tolliver moves in when he and his boyfriend breakup, a boyfriend who Mary Ann happened to give a hollandaise recipe to while prowling the Safeway Marina with Connie. Brian has an affairette with Connie. Mrs. Madrigal takes up with Mona's boss Edgar Halcyon while Mary Ann falls for his son-in-law Beauchamp Day whose flirtatious ways might be hiding something deeper. The connections and relationships they forge all swirl around Barbary Lane and at the heart of it all is the benevolent and mysterious Mrs. Madrigal. Because she does have a secret, but so does everyone. Only hers might be a doozy. One people are willing to die for.
Tales of the City was originally a column in the San Francisco Chronicle leading it to be compared to Dickens and other Victorian authors whose work was serialized. Which is valid, but those authors didn't have the limitations of writing by the column inch. Each "chapter" is more a chapterette. Which makes it easier to indulge in just "one more chapter" much like DeDe Halcyon Day scarfing down a whole bag of chips in the doctor's waiting room you WILL sacrifice sleep as you devour this series. And that's the hard thing about writing a review for this book because it's more an epic soap opera stretched out over nine volumes that span forty years without real arcs, it's more episodic. In fact I couldn't remember what big moments capped this volume and I was surprised that we actually learn so little, but then again, Maupin was in it for the long game, one major plot point wasn't resolved until Mary Ann in Autumn in 2010. And I can tell you, if I didn't have, you know, a life and obligations, I'd be tearing through the remaining eight volumes at breakneck speed. Because the thing about Tales of the City is that these characters are more than friends they are family, chosen family. They can annoy you and do stupid things, you can be yelling at them hoping they can hear you, but at the end of the day there's no line they can cross that will make you cut them out of your life. In fact, when I first read this series I strongly related to Mary Ann, she's from the Midwest and naive and a bit uptight, check, check, and check, but what she does to Brian in Babycakes, I was so pissed at her, because it was something I would never do. And yes, I realize I am not the character, but this gave me many feelings rereading this book. I no longer related to Mary Ann but I understood her, she was still a part of me. This whole series is a part of me. From watching the adaptations with the dreadful Mona late at night to making ramen with my cat in the kitchen trying to get in one more chapter before the water boiled. This series is in my bones as I'm sure it is in many peoples. Now if I can just find some time to reread the next eight volumes. Who am I kidding, I'll sacrifice sleep.
The Days of Anna Madrigal by Armistead Maupin
