I want to apologize for titling my review with a Shakespeare quote—allow me the brief guilty pleasure. I always wonder how I would react to a book if I had read it at a different time. I usually promise to a read a book again—especially if a season plays an important role in a novel—but with all of the literature in print I rarely follow through. And even tougher are the promises to read stories later in life. After spending a weekend with Richard Ford's The Sportswriter, I know I should read this again in 20 years because it will make a lot more sense. I hope I follow through because this is a great book that will only get better.Frank Bascombe is a dreamer. He tells his life story over the course of a somewhat eventful Easter weekend. Beginning on a quiet Friday morning, Frank approaches the gravestone of his deceased son. He waits for his ex-wife who shares this yearly ritual with him. From this moment until Sunday evening, Frank drifts between reality and daydream recalling most of the formative moments from his life.
Ford weaves dreams into the narrative so effortlessly that one often forgets what the original time period is. The majority of the story involves little of the present. Instead we witness the vivid memories in Frank’s mind. More importantly, we understand that what exists in the present seems to be of little concern to our narrator. Perhaps that is the chief cause of his downfall.
I read this after having read its Pulitzer prize-winning sequel Independence Day last year. I can’t remember much of a difference between the two—besides the obvious plot changes—but Ford’s storytelling remained true between both books. Despite reading them out of order, I can certainly say the two exist as one piece. There is a third story out there, but I’ve yet to read that one; if anyone has I would love to hear some opinions.
The language and craft existed on the page, but I never had a connection with the characters. I know full well that at 40 years I will understand Frank’s plight, but at present I just couldn’t connect with him or any other character. But that shouldn’t deter people from reading this wonderfully potent novel. If you are middle-aged (or an old soul) make sure to pick up The Sportswriter and Independence Day.
A side note: I was suggested Independence Day during a search for road novels as I was about to embark on a cross-country trip. Though I think the novel never fulfilled my expectations of a road story (e.g. On the Road) it did travel along a winding path through the narrator’s thoughts. What are your expectations for a road novel? And what are some interesting variations of “the road novel” that you’ve read? We’d all probably be better to ignore novels with the word “road” already in the title.
