Signal Fires by Dani Shapiro

Published by Knopf on October 18, 2022

The broken members of two neighboring families occasionally intersect in Signal Fires. The Wilfs seemed like a typical suburban family until, in 1985, their two children went for a drive. Sarah was 17. She didn’t think she should drive after drinking three beers so she gave the keys to her brother. Theo was 15 and unlicensed. Sarah claimed she was driving after Theo crashed the car into a tree near their home. The Wilf kids were fine but the car’s third passenger appeared to be bleeding to death. Ben Wilf, their father, ran to the car and made the mistake of moving the girl, not realizing that her neck was broken. Ben is a doctor who should knew better but, because he acted in a state of panic, he lives the rest of his life with the knowledge that he might have caused serious harm.

Years later, the Wilf family has changed. Sarah is in Los Angeles with two kids of her own. She works in the film industry and supports her family because her husband, a screenwriter who is better at writing than networking, can’t get a break. Theo has gone to Patagonia to escape his tormented life. Ben suffers a panic attack when, in an emergency, he delivers a neighbor’s baby. Ben’s wife Mimi will later be placed in a care center for dementia patients. The family will reunite when Mimi wanders off the premises and disappears.

The baby Ben delivers is Waldo Shenkman. Waldo’s parents are ill-equipped for parenting. His father lives in a permanent state of rage; his mother drinks. We see less of the Shenkmans than the Wilfs as the story is told, but Waldo becomes a central character. Waldo is an exceptionally bright kid who needs to survive childhood before he will thrive.

Although the story bounces around in time, the key members of the two families come together in the novel’s third act. They are driven to each other in a moment of crisis. Families in crisis have an opportunity to change, to improve. Sometimes they recognize that opportunity; sometimes their personalities are too entrenched. Sometimes the youngest members of a family, not yet irrevocably damaged, have the most clarity. How the family members will respond is the question that readers will ponder until the story reaches its end.

“Everything is connected” is a common theme of literary fiction. All moments, all people, are connected in obvious and unrecognized ways. People are connected by living on the same planet in the same galaxy, surrounded by the same stars, but we are often connected by small events that we fail to appreciate. Connections in Signal Fire lead to surprising bonds that arise from tragic events.

The stronger theme in Signal Fires is the challenge of surviving the harm caused by a festering family secret.  Every member of the Wilf family is touched by the car accident, the lie that was told, the failure to take responsibility and the lack of legal consequence. The family pointedly buries the truth, never speaking of it, even to each other. Ben comes to believe that “they shared a terror that if they spoke of what happened that night, their words would form a complete narrative more terrible than the shattered part each of them carried alone.” Theo is the most damaged, but Sarah uses alcohol to quiet her mind and Ben loses confidence in his ability to practice medicine. Sarah learns from AA that “you are only as sick as your secrets” and realizes that she is very sick indeed. How the family will overcome its secrets is the plot driver that gives the novel its tension.

Dani Shapiro’s descriptive prose sets the scene without burying it in words. I enjoyed Waldo’s description of exploding stars and the creation of new planets from stardust. I appreciated Ben’s memories of the “bang of a truck going over a manhole cover. The feel of a paper bag filled with hot chestnuts in his hands. The gush of an open hydrant in summertime.” The recipe ingredients Theo uses in the restaurants he eventually opens made my mouth water.

While Shapiro gives the reader moments of drama, Signal Fires ultimately succeeds as a character-driven novel. Shapiro details the lives of her characters, their growth and setbacks, the disconnect between their behavior and the way they want to behave. She gives her characters room to heal, a process that requires decades and the power of honest communication. She illustrates resilience in the face of plans that, like all plans, fail to survive contact with life. She acknowledges the importance of being recognized, even by just one or two people, for who you are, not for who you are expected to be. All of that occurs without excessive exposition, without melodrama, with an honest and steady look at how connections break and mend. This is an impressive novel.

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