At first I was charmed by "Lenore's" penchant for writing down every morsel of food that passed her lips, the flea market knick-knacks and the post-modern paperbacks... but by the time I got to the Paul Smith sock collection and the vintage Kitchen Aid coffee grinder it was just too much, and I began to feel like I was trapped next to the annoyingly hip and brilliant dinner guest who can't stop pointing out just how hip and brilliant she is.
"Important Artifacts and Personal Property from the Collection of Lenore Doolan and Harold Morris" may be a satire on modern love, but I think Shapton also meant to write a real romance -- and in that it falls short. "Hal" and "Lenore" are excruciatingly precise shoppers who somehow can't get past the petty-squabbles stage of a thirtysomething relationship. There are moments ("I love his legs... I hate his drinking") that suggest an actual person lurking beneath the things, but these moments, though well observed, don't add up to a full portrait. The stuff -- the vintage hats and Smythson of Bond Street planners, the cake stands and martini sets -- just overwhelms the people, and the people disappear under its weight. Clearly, Shapton meant to do the opposite -- have the stuff subtly illuminate the characters' inner lives -- but the props have drowned out the players.
It doesn't help to have photographs of actors playing the lovers, either; that only made "Lenore" and "Hal" seem even less probable.
It's a neat idea, though. Tried with characters who have lost something more resonant than a teacup or a trip to the Bosporus, it could really be something.
(As a side note: Shapton is a very talented illustrator and her series, "A Month of..." for the New York Times, is worth checking out.)