Everybody over 40 knows what Rosemary’s Baby is about, just as they know Moby Dick is about a guy hunting a white whale.
The difference between Ira Levin’s novel and Herman Melville’s is that there’s more to Moby Dick what everybody knows.
Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin
Random House, 1967, 245 p. 1967 bestseller # 7. My grade: C.
The story is about Guy and Rosemary Woodhouse, a young couple who move into a New York City apartment house noted for its Victorian architecture, its history of unsavory residents, and its unusually high rate of suicides.
Guy goes to work—he’s an actor who works mainly in commercials —and Rosemary putters at decorating, always with an eye to how the rooms can be rearranged to accommodate a baby.
After the inexplicable suicide of young woman who lived with the older couple next door, Rosemary and Guy get sucked into friendship with them.
Strange things start to happen.
Ira Levin, a master of the art of plotting, keeps the story moving briskly.
Levin doesn’t attempt to flesh out any of the characters beyond their initial descriptions. Nobody in the book learns anything or changes in any way.
The characters are dummies in an all-dummy cast which, in horror novels, may be the proper authorial pose.
Sympathy is wasted on dummies.
© 2016 Linda Gorton Aragoni