“Engaging…Simon’s keen eye for the way in which her characters willfully deceive themselves is on point.” This Arts Fuse review of The Butterfly Trap comes awfully close to spoilers in its in-depth analysis of the plot. Be forewarned! However, critic Matt Hanson does shed some insight on “the all-too-human mess of romantic relationships” in this “engaging new novel.”
Here’s the link. Full review cut and pasted below.
By Matt Hanson
The all-too-human propensity for not only telling yourself what you want to hear but taking what you see at face value is what drives the action.
The Butterfly Trap by Clea Simon. Severn House, 224 pages, $29.99.
Greg Steinman, the protagonist of Clea Simon’s engaging new novel The Butterfly Trap, is already in over his head at the start of the story. “She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen…like an after-image, a visual echo, the movement taken up by the wide sleeves of her shirt…he could have watched her dance all night.” Greg’s so instantly love struck by Anya Wildman, this lovely creature undulating before him, that he doesn’t realize how he might only be seeing what he wants to see. Not the worst thing in the world to be hit by love at first sight — ancient wisdom claims that there’s really no other way. Still, being blinded so suddenly is never a promising sign.
The all-too-human propensity for not only telling yourself what you want to hear but taking what you see at face value propels the narrative’s action. Greg is a decent sort of fellow, a competent and hardworking doctor. It’s only natural that he should become weak in the knees for Anya, a lively but anxious artist. Opposites attract and all that. He’s dutiful, even obsequious, about wanting to make her “his” lady. A typical male, he blithely assumes his puppy-like devotion will win her over. Then they’ll get married, have kids, and cuddle in a suburban nest.
The titular butterfly is the spontaneous token of his affection, purchased at an outdoor art market (which really isn’t the best place for impulse buys). Greg sees it as an ideal gift. Surely Anya will appreciate how poetic he is, that he associates her with this imagery: “a butterfly, mounted and framed. Bright blue on black velvet. A pop of color, the words sprang to mind. One of those phrases he’d heard at the gallery, he figured. He almost laughed, it was so perfect.” Of course, picking out gifts can be a tricky thing; a test of your ability to understand the other. It’s not a test of the other person’s taste, but of your own. Last thing you want is to give someone else something that only you would like.
Greg’s sleazy friend Pete always reeks of booze and has an eye cocked for the nearest hottie at the bar. He initially seems to be a walk-on character except, as the story progresses, he has an Iago-like tendency to be the devil on Greg’s shoulder, a voice for his worst instincts. Pete warns him that she might be too good to be true and that she can’t be trusted. Everyone has that kind of person in their life and usually it’s best to keep them at arm’s length.
What was really interesting and innovative about the way The Butterfly Trap is structured is that the first half of it is told entirely from Greg’s point of view. Naturally, the reader sides with him, partly because we are only privy to the information he hands us. We are confined in his perspective. When he’s confused about something we assume that he should be relied on as a narrator. After all, he’s the one who should know the best.
Yet he isn’t reliable. The second half of the story is all Anya and she paints an entirely different picture. The truth is, she’s much more ambivalent than Greg ever is about their relationship. Pretty much every aspect of it, at that. She appreciates Greg’s attention and his devotion is a balm to her heart given that she’s been reeling from a breakup with the kind of charismatic dirtbag you meet in the struggling artist’s world. Greg’s willingness to underwrite her studio expenses doesn’t hurt either.
Anya’s not really a sellout. She understands that Greg is a good guy and she recognizes that it’s a valuable thing to have a decent, honest, genuine fellow in her life. The problem is that the relationship doesn’t work in the kind of way which is most fulfilling for her. When Greg does her a particular favor at her big gallery opening, he can’t quite comprehend why she’s so upset by what he did. And Pete might be a sleazy creep in many ways, but at the same time he might know more about the real behind-the-scenes emotions upsetting Anya as she tries to adjust to domesticity.
The story does follow some fairly well trod ground, it must be said, though Simon’s keen eye for the way in which her characters willfully deceive themselves is on point. The narrative picks up plenty of momentum as Anya’s testimony fills the poignant blank spots in Greg’s account. We sympathize with her and understand her hesitation. Her penchant for self-destruction might be somewhat inscrutable to some readers. What’s less sympathetic is how Greg reacts after what always took for granted suddenly gets spun around before his very eyes. The butterfly art he thought was charming — well, the spell doesn’t last.
Their fate as a couple is tragic, indeed. Once we know the whole story we can see how it was headed the wrong way all along. It’s the all-too-human mess of romantic relationships: what each person wants, needs, hopes for, longs for, and what they have to tell themselves in order to keep going amid all that internal clangor is, when you get right down to it, the oldest story there is.
Matt Hanson is a contributing editor at the Arts Fuse whose work has also appeared in the American Interest, theBaffler, the Guardian, the Millions, the New Yorker, the Smart Set, and elsewhere. A longtime resident of Boston, he now lives in New Orleans.