Stewart O'Nan Writes of the Unsung Heros of Middle America

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.