Rachel's rant: Book club etiquette

This post was published in draft form, and went out on a feed before I could retrieve it. Thank you to two readers of that draft who e-mailed to offer relevant, important points which resulted in this revision.

I have noticed, at events where hors d'oeuvres were proffered, a certain behaviour. It's always a woman, and the remark is a variation of, "No, thank you, but my, it looks delicious."

At a social gathering, guests do not have to eat or drink. Or wait, do they?

If you are invited to a catered reception, I'd say not. It is unlikely anyone will notice, and some ravenous nineteen-year-old will snarfle your share of shrimp brochette.

If you are a guest in someone's home, declining everything offered as refreshment is going to be noticed, especially in the butter-scented domain of the women's book club.

Rachel's club is entering its twenty-fourth continuous year, and in the last two has welcomed two new members after they lost one to Prince Edward Island, one to the Library of Heaven. The club is a tea party with books; those readers are feeders. The original seven members prize both lively discourse and a generously-laden cake stand.

Rachel called to say that she had baked for two days to host her turn. (Hosts provide the refreshments, whether bought or homemade.)

One new member, recruited by a departing one, and here called "Monique", joined just under a year ago; she has attended previous meetings, but not yet hosted. At this meeting, she declined everything from Rachel's mandlebrot to mini-scones, but had uttered effusive praise for each waved-away tray: "Looks divine!" "Aren't these the most beautiful macarons?" "Oh, don't you just love chocolate?"

Though she noticed, Rachel said nothing; her asperity was saved for the phone call I received. She asked me, "What was with that woman?" Because Monique ate at the previous meetings, Rachel took her abstention personally.

I offered various scenarios: Diabetic? Germ phobic? Out of Weight Watcher points? Rachel, who has attended WW meetings since the recipes were type-written, said, "One freaking mandelbrot, everyone knows how to budget for that."

The first commenter, who has health issues that make eating outside her home virtually impossible, thought Rachel had made the matter "all about her". She felt that Monique's abstention required no explanation. This commenter's anguish was palatable: "Am I supposed to stay home?" I was moved by her situation.

She also viewed that revealing her health issues would be an invasion of her privacy. I agree that a guest is not obliged to disclose personal details. At the same time, an excuse such as "I'm not feeling well today" would not reveal much.

The second commenter said that in her culture, two behaviours were equally gauche: for a host to offer no refreshment to a guest, and for a guest to decline it. She wrote that a quiet word from Monique to Rachel at the start of the evening would have prevented the incident. Her note reminded me of the role of culture in shaping our standards for appropriate behaviour.

I've heard plenty about book club dynamics over the years; some are love-ins, others have ups and downs. I  think that Monique had not yet fully integrated with her club. When a newcomer joins a tight group, doing anything outside their norms stands out. Some will accept atypical behaviour ("That's how Monique is"), others will, but would like to know why ("Monique has IBS"), and some will be hostile and perhaps even exclude the member.

I asked Rachel what she wanted now: was this a tempest in a teapot, or did she feel that Monique was a poor draft pick? Rachel said she hoped Monique would work out. There will be another meeting in April; they're reading Jesmyn Ward's "Sing, Unburied, Sing."

She will put her bruised feelings aside, and see. (They have asked only one member to drop out, because in two years, she didn't read a single assigned book. They said she'd be welcome to return if she could.)

Meanwhile, Rachel was left with a pile of leftovers, because she always makes extra.

"Wrap them up and send 'em over", I told her; "I'm hungry just hearing about those scones."

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