Sandwich, By: Catherine Newman. Publisher: Harper, 229 pages, $26.99.
I don’t laugh out loud very often when I’m reading books, but I did while I was reading “Sandwich.” And I bet I smiled an average of three times per page. Catherine Newman’s novel is tons of fun, full of narrator Rocky’s wry observations, like this one, when she sees herself in a mirror while trying on a swimsuit: “There is also some kind of situation between my rib cage and legs — something new that looks like a bag full of dinner rolls, or maybe just a large loaf of peasant bread.
” Rocky, her maybe-a-little-too-perfect husband, their two adult children and, for part of the weeklong vacation, Rocky’s parents have rented a house in Provincetown. It’s something they do every year and that Rocky always looks forward to, although this year has its share of melancholy, in between brisk swims and trips to town to get the good sandwiches. That’s because, at midlife (and, as the title hints, sandwiched between her parents’ generation and her children’s), Rocky is hyper-aware of the passage of time.
She worries about the health of her parents, especially whether they’re telling her everything. She worries about a secret that could drive a wedge between her and her husband. And, watching her children launching their own lives has Rocky feeling misty about previous trips to the same vacation rental, trips when she wasn’t wondering if her son Jamie’s girlfriend is pregnant (she is), b.
