The spell cast by Islesboro on the author of this book began in 1968 at a party on another island – Manhattan – when a socialite friend, Annette Engelhard Reed (now Mrs. Oscar de la Renta), invited him to visit at her estate there. Mehta calls his first chapter “Enchantress,” a reference to Annette, rich, charming and a woman whose attentions flattered him. But it describes Islesboro too, given the role it would play in his life after repeated visits there, seduced and obsessed by it.
The pursuit for his own piece of the island, begun in the 1980s, reveals Mehta’s dogged commitment. Just traveling from New York, where Mehta lived and worked as a writer, to Maine was logistically complex. Mehta has been blind since age four. When touring part of an Islesboro estate put on the market, Mehta quickly succumbed to its charms. Lust might best describe his desire. Like a trophy wife, owning a piece of land there appeared to be a way of having something with added status. But, priced at what seemingly put it out of reach, the purchase was made thanks to Annette’s offer to share the expense, a debt she never collected. This pattern was to be repeated: drawn to the jet set and glitterati, Mehta aspired to their lifestyle, but without the resources. Intensely focused on what he must have, he was relentlessly devoted to its acquisition. With goals beyond his means, he was bolstered by women, first one heiress, then another.
Mehta was in his late 40s and unmarried when he acquired his land. After some frustrating work with others, he asked a prestigious architect, Edward Larrabee Barnes, to design the house. Believing Barnes deserved the same artistic freedom Mehta sought as a writer, he offered little input to the design. He did, however, caution Barnes that, as a blind person with highly sensitized hearing, interior surfaces that deadened sound were critical. But what, more than appearances, is important to an architect? The finished house was noisy, full of glass and had a stairwell that initially amplified and transmitted sound throughout. It also required an addition immediately in order to provide more living space, which thankfully also served to improve the acoustics. There had been no anticipation that Mehta, long a bachelor looking for love, would – in finding a wife – go on to have children needing bedrooms of their own. His new spouse, with a family trust fund, was Linn Cary, who joined Mehta’s undertaking on Islesboro. Mehta’s description of their experience is certainly no practical guide of how to build a house, except illustrating some of what to avoid. The cost overruns, customization of items, and experimental approach – at Mehta’s expense – wouldn’t be afforded by many. Not only is this story about the pocketbook, and a parade of prices, but also Mehta’s psyche, with a constant reference to his inner emotional state. To some degree, sharing his introspection is useful, especially in understanding the challenges blindness presents. But the interior monologue – without the relief of self-deprecating humor, as in Woody Allen, or breakthrough epiphanies – is wearing. It becomes too much information. The story ends by detailing the Mehta family summers. They have added an infinity pool and guesthouse. The daughters enjoy busy days at the Tarratine Club learning to sail and play tennis. Mehta concludes the house was worth building for the opportunities it offers his children. Is it a dream come true? Mehta feels that owning land and a house prove he has surmounted many hurdles, which he has inarguably done, including his blindness, roots in the impoverished country of India, and choice of an unpredictable career in writing. His middle-aged journey, fueled by strong emotional needs, leads to what he feels represents undeniable success, certainly in the best American tradition. With wife and kids, a special house, the right address and the right club, Mehta should be happy, one hopes.
Tina Cohen writes from Vinalhaven and Deerfield MA.