Southern Bookman

Beginning Jonathan Franzen's "Freedom" at Last

Thanks to the Atlanta-Fulton County Library, I finally have in my hands Jonathan Franzen's "Freedom," the novel that caused such a late summer stir. I'd put a hold on the book when it first came out and was pleasantly surprised that it finally came to me. In the past, I've put holds on books and never received them.

The book started off fine; Franzen has the gift of drawing the reader into his work and efficiently giving a great deal of narrative information. However, I've now reached the dubious second chapter, an autobiography of one of the main characters, Patty, written, according to Franzen's conceit, at the suggestion of her therapist. This filled me with foreboding, with some of the book's negative reviews echoing from deep within. The device struck me as contrived and manipulative; I'll keep reading, but fear I could hit rough waters here.

Meanwhile, I'm also trying to finish Tom Rachman's "The Imperfectionists," an homage to old-time Euroepean journalism. The book tells the saga of a small newspaper based in Rome, built on character sketches of a number of colorful characters. The book evokes the romance of foreign correspondents and expatriate adventures. That spirit appeared lost to those of us who grew up imbibing it; thanks to Rachman for rekindling it.  

 

 

 

 

 

''Gatz" Gives Dramatic Life to "The Great Gatsby"

F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby" at last finds dramatic success with the Elevator Repair Service's production of "Gatz" in New York City. In the play, a night watchman begins reading Fitzgerald's novel and its characters arise in his presence. This conceit has achieved success after the failures of a couple of movie versions of "Gatsby."

The movies, including the high-priced bomb starring Robert Redford as Gatsby and Mia Farrow as Daisy Buchanan, were faithful to Fitzgerald's dialogue, so ebullient on the page, leaden on actors' lips. Funny, in his stints in Hollywood, Fitzgerald showed an inability to write good screen dialogue. His ear for language fell flat. Trying to duplicate the book on the screen was bound to fail.

Now, "Gatz" works by having characters read the book on stage. Perhaps the theater was always the right dramatic genre for the book. The play examines the experience of reading, how characters live in our imaginations as we create them for ourselves from the words we read.

"Gatsby" is one of those books I used to re-read, although I haven't in a while. I fear I'll find it falling short if I read it again. The language, characterization and musings on American desire, ambition and greed are certainly great, but I wondered if they would retain their old power. Since most American classics are encountered in youth, are they really immature, facile works, unable to stand with works by Shakespeare, Proust or others? "Gatz" makes me want to return to "Gatsby," reassuring me that Fitzgerald's magic will last. 

 

Looking back at John Updike's Paean to Ted Williams

A couple of weeks ago, the New York Times' Charles McGrath ran a piece on the 40th anniversary of John Updike's valediction to Ted Williams' last game, "Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu," which ran in the New Yorker. The piece in which Updike made the comment about Williams' refusual to answer the fans' final cheers "gods don't answer letters" enjoyed a long afterlife, including publication as a small book.

Updike's article has a place in classic baseball literature, but McGrath probably gave it too much credit for beginning a new era of literary writing about the game. A lot of fine baseball writing had been done before Updike's piece, including by newspaper columnists like Red Smith. Some believe that the best writing on sports has been done on baseball an golf; some famous quote master said the smaller the ball, the better the writing, although quite a bit of strong work has been done on football, and basketball. Boxing also has a strong body of literature. The prevalance of baseball writing probably is a reflection of the fact that baseball was once more popular than any other sport. 

As McGrath said, Updike's piece foreshadowed the work of writers like the New Yorker's Roger Angell, who overly romanticize baseball. I've grown tired of writers who talk about the enternal green fields, the mystical distances between the bases and all of the rest.

Baseball books and articles are still churned out, but the game doesn't attract writers like Updike anymore. For that matter, with the rise of ESPN and Internet commentary, sportswriting has entered an era of utilitarian focus on statistics and strategic analysis of dubious worth, not poetry and narrative.