There is a pitch-perfect scene early on in Richard Russo's uneven new novel "Chances Are..." that spoke to me so clearly. I remember that night in the living room at Russell Sage College as if it were yesterday. It's the evening in 1969 when, for the first time, a lottery drawing based on birthdays will determine which young men will be upending their lives and heading to Southeast Asia and which will be free to continue their studies and get on with their lives.
Mickey, Lincoln, and Teddy work in the kitchen at a sorority house on the campus of their alma mater, Minerva College in Connecticut. Their reactions to the results are so honest and true that you know immediately that Russo lived through this himself. In fact, he said in an interview that he gave Teddy his own number, 322. Call it a get out of jail free card. Mickey was not so lucky.
Fast forward forty years. The guys are reuniting at the home in Chilmark on Martha's Vineyard that's been in Lincoln's family for generations. Though they considered themselves pretty tight - all for one and one for all was their perpetual chant - they haven't been in close touch over the years and the only thing that they really have in common is their mutual love for the fourth member of their posse, Jacy Calloway.
She was the girl who got away. Jacy was from a different social class, the only one of the four at Minerva who wasn't on scholarship, yet for some unexplained reason she gravitated to these guys and they took pains to treat her like one of the boys. But that all changed on the weekend after graduation when the four friends gathered at the house in Chilmark for a final booze and pot-filled bash before they scattered for jobs, marriage, and for Mickey, the recruitment center.
Then Jacy Calloway disappeared. Russo would have us believe that her vanishing from their lives left a void, a mystery that could never be solved, yet forty years have elapsed before the friends decide to talk about it. Something sinister is implied but with little evidence. As readers we begin to question the truthfulness of each of the guys and wonder what really brought them together for this reunion. The plot seems suddenly contrived.
Russo is a Pulitzer Prize-winning author, one whose books are beloved by millions, myself included. In previous novels like "Empire Falls" or "Nobody's Fool" his characterizations were so generous, so thoughtful, that I kept waiting for my heart to open to Mickey, Lincoln, and Teddy. When that didn't happen, I began to wonder what it was about Jacy that had them so enthralled. Then I realized that there was nothing. She was just a cipher upon whom they had each imprinted their own hopes and dreams. She was their unattainable illusion.
Maybe that's the point. The road not taken. Chances are.....Man plans, god laughs. As a contemporary of Russo's I understand the need that some have to reflect on past choices and ponder what might have been. But why not rejoice in the life we have now? That's my preference and perhaps that's why I found Russo's book a tad self-indulgent and disappointing. Don't get me wrong. It will hold your interest. It's a worthy beach read but it lacks the depth of "Bridge of Sighs" or the sharp humor of "Straight Man." Let me know what you think. Have I missed something?
I am so proud to say that, for a second year, my editor at Library Journal has chosen me and another reviewer to help her cull through the best of the best of this year's literary fiction and come up with ten recommendations. She created a daunting list of thirty-six titles, made only a little bit more manageable by virtue of the fact that - phew - I had already read twelve of them. Nevertheless, we have a little less than two months to make this happen so my partner in reviewing and I are grateful that we are retired!
This is a nice way of telling you that I may be off the grid again for a while. Though I guess it would be okay, if I'm not leaning toward nominating a book for the top ten, to go ahead and review it here instead. After all, it wouldn't mean that it's not worth reading at all. Richard Russo, sadly, I'm talking about you.
Naturally, the new Colson Whitehead is on the list and I'm looking longingly at my ARCs of the new Ann Patchett and Alice Hoffman. The review of Tia Obreht's "Inland" was one of the best I've read in the Times Sunday supplement in ages. It had me salivating. Fortunately, the library system here in Maryland has a generous lending policy, even for new books. I will be taking full advantage.
Meanwhile, if you're still in lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer reading mode you might want to dive into this remarkably ambitious, sprawling debut novel (over 500 pages) from Claire Lombardo. "The Most Fun We Ever Had" is a multi-generational family saga that sucks you in and won't let you go. What's so
refreshing about this book is that the characters, rather than being abused, neglected, and in analysis, suffer from too much love. Is that even possible you might wonder? Well, I guess if you're one of the four daughters of Marilyn and David Sorenson the answer just may be yes. When your folks just can't keep their hands off each other - even after twenty, thirty, forty years of marriage, they set a pretty high bar for their girls to achieve. And, oh do they resent it!
You might think, as I did at first, "oh, cry me a river!" What a bunch of whiney brats! But soon I settled down and just threw myself into the story, discovering redeeming qualities in each of the girls, their significant others, and their offspring. Lombardo did an amazing job of fully realizing each character, helping the reader to understand her/him and how each evolved to become the person he is. There are no throwaway people in Lombardo's novel!
And she's so young! https://www.clairelombardo.com/ How did she get to be so wise beyond her years? Oh, to be a fly on the wall at the Iowa Writers' Workshops. In these days of pretentious literature passing as intellectual exercise it's nice to wallow now and then in good old fashioned storytelling about families with problems we've all seen or had to deal with ourselves. Granted, the Sorenson's have the upper middle class means to handle the troubles that arise but hey, they're human.
Am I the only one out there who thinks that Stewart O'Nan is an overlooked genius in the literary field? For years I have been reading his quietly perceptive novels like "Last Night at the Lobster," about a failing New England restaurant and the staff members affected by its closing, or the brilliant story of a marriage at a tipping point, "The Odds, A Love Story." But it's his trilogy about the Maxwell family that will knock your socks off in its deceptive simplicity.
Running backward in time, O'Nan first introduced Emily Maxwell, her sister-in-law, Arlene, and her adult children and grandchildren in 2003 with "Wish You Were Here." He followed that up with "Emily, Alone," and now, finally, is giving Henry, the patriarch, his due with the beautiful book "Henry, Himself."
O'Nan's new book is the perfect antidote to the insane political climate of the day. As Richard Russo did for upstate New York, O'Nan does for the Pittsburgh area, making it a full-blown character in his Maxwell stories. He has a talent for
raising the quotidian to the level of a sacrament, examining every day people, their worries, hopes, and dreams.
I've been told that I had a Norman Rockwell upbringing and I sometimes reject that rather romanticized look at my life.
But, in O'Nan's work I absolutely, unapologetically, see my father, my brother, even my nephews and nieces, unassuming middle Americans putting one foot in front of the other every day, doing the right thing, juggling parenthood, homeownership, and sometimes less than satisfying work, while taking more pleasure in a night at a Steelers' game than a vacation in Europe. This is Henry Maxwell. This is why we love him.
Recently retired, Henry is acutely aware that he is often in prickly Emily's way. After all, she's the one who's been running the home for the past forty-some years like a corporate executive. He is cautious when intruding on her routine but generous with his runs to Home Depot, the grocery store, or the post office, and has the good sense to disappear into his woodworking shop in the afternoons when it's her turn to sit down with her book.
Henry is still very much in love with Emily and thinks long and hard about their anniversary outings, Valentine's Day, or Christmas gifts, and it's an eye-opening delight to be inside his head as he weighs the pros and cons of taking Emily to their country club or to a new place that everyone is talking about for a special dinner.
Lest I give the wrong impression, Henry is no saint, no goodie-two-shoes. His stream of consciousness musings as he walks the dog, fixes the TV antenna, changes out the storm windows for screens, or battles the lawn, tend to reflection on his experiences in World War II, the crazy mad fling he had with a wealthy debutante engaged to someone else, or his daughter who is struggling with alcoholism and a husband who's half-way out the door.
In his seventies, Henry worries about his health even as he enjoys his beer in the afternoon, wine with dinner, and his scotch afterward. He obsesses over his bookkeeping methods, color-coded folders that he hopes Emily will be able to decipher after he's gone. He is, of course, sure that he will go first but would he sit down with Emily and go over the accounts? Not happening.
Henry, some readers may think, is a product of another age, a life many of us still recognize and some say they yearn for. I don't, but I love the way O'Nan skillfully recreates a time and place that may not exist for much longer and offers an homage to the everyman in each of us.
I had planned to tell you about a very different book today, but after finishing and sobbing through Philip Rucker's piece in this morning's Washington Post https://wapo.st/2M1CfYN I decided to encourage you to read "Munich" by British journalist and author Robert Harris. https://literature.britishcouncil.org/writer/robert-harris
I have commented previously here about how I'm drawn to literature, novels and non-fiction, about the World War II era and I'm particularly intrigued by books that examine the rise of the Third Reich. I want to understand how it could happen, that basically good people (dare I even say that now?) could fall under the spell of a hater, a person bent on eliminating all the "others" from existence. Yet the daily news continually reminds me of how easily it could happen again. Beto O"Rourke's tearful lament in regard to the latest horrific incident of gun violence in El Paso should be considered one more in the growing list of warnings that history is repeating itself under the Trump administration.
Harris's novel is based upon the now renowned conference held in Munich, Germany, in 1938, at which British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, Italian leader Mussolini, and France's Daladier signed an agreement with Adolph Hitler allowing him to annex the Sudetenland. He was going to do it anyway - by
force, they figured - so why not at least get some concessions from Germany.
None of the signatory countries could stomach the thought of another war so soon on the heels of the first world war. They were neither militarily nor psychologically prepared and the general public looked upon them, especially Chamberlain, as saviors of the peace. Of course, in hindsight historians now understand that the Munich agreement was the worst kind of appeasement which led to the Nazi taking of Czechoslovakia, then Poland, and on and on. In fact, a new book on this subject was just reviewed in this Sunday's New York Times Book Review. https://nyti.ms/2T5CYsP
There were several plots to kill Hitler during the course of his rise to power. Many patriots understood the existential threat that he posed. One of those plots happened and failed during the Munich meetings. In the novel, two men, friends who had attended Oxford together and were in love with the same woman, are at the center of the action. Paul von Hartmann serves in the German forces while Hugh Legat works out of 10 Downing Street. Hartmann has come into possession of a leaked document - yes, even then, before wiki - and he needs to get it into the hands of Chamberlain. He believes that it will change the prime minister's mind and give him a peak into the Fuhrer's true intentions.
Harris is expert at building tension, recreating the atmosphere that prevails when there's a complete lack of trust among staff, where rumors abound and fear of the leader hobbles those with the best of intentions. On the streets and in the various hotels where Hugh and Paul meet, they are constantly on the lookout for spies. Hartmann, the more convinced of the two that Hitler must be taken out, even drives his friend out into the countryside late one night to witness the so-called work camp that's being built in plain sight.
I listened to an audio recording of this book, walking and thinking of the old adage that those who refuse to learn from history are bound to repeat it. As libraries tried to reinvent themselves for the twenty-first century, I attended many conferences and leadership presentations that warned of the dangers of not embracing change. There's the parable of the frog who is set in a pot of water. As the heat rises, the frog adapts. It gets hotter, he adapts more. Until, of course, it's too late for the frog and, by inference, the institution.
As the Third Reich trampled through Europe, we here in America stayed on the sidelines for much too long, refusing to believe the news coming from across the sea. (see my review of The Flight Portfolio). Now our country is being attacked from within, from white nationalists and terrorists who once again are fomenting fear of the "others." Will we capitulate? Appease? Or will we fight against this evil? What will the novelists in the future have to say about us?
