If I had been asked to rate this novel on the basis of the first fifty pages, I might have given it 3 stars; however, Bender is so expert at building emotions through her fairy-tale magic realism that, after I read the final words, I sighed with pleasure at a story well-told. Narrator Rose is burdened with a terrible "gift." She can taste the emotions of the cook in every bite she eats, whether that cook is her depressed mother or a rushed restaurant chef or the person who grew the herbs. When Rose tastes the bitterness and betrayals in her parents' marriage, she finds herself on her knees in gratitude for the school vending machine and its array of impersonally processed junk food. Her brother Joseph has a problem as well; he wants nothing more than to be left alone, to be divorced from the dysfunctional family, to disappear from the restrictions of his life. The two understand each other only as siblings can, even though they refuse to accept, at least at first, the peculiarities of the other. It takes George, Joseph's brilliant friend, to release both of them, albeit in different ways.
Bender is known for her fairy-tale-like stories, although her brand of magic realism is more minimalist than most, told with spare prose and no-nonsense characterizations. Although the language is poetic at times, it is never lush, and this stylistic choice makes extraordinary circumstances seem almost mundane. The real force, however, is how the emotions begin to well up in the magic until they mean something so powerful that they change how the reader perceives everything about it. Reading Bender is like eating a Tootsie Roll pop -- all sweet and sameness on the exterior until you reach the chewy middle and realize just how good the complete combination is.
The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake starts slow but builds to a wondrous conclusion about survival, love, and the ability to embrace one's gifts. For more Aimee Bender, try her inventive and startling story collection, The Girl in the Flammable Skirt: Stories
-- Debbie Lee Wesselmann