Re-reads

The Car Thief – Theodore Weesner

This is the story of a boy in his mid teens who isn’t making it in life. He lives in a shabby apartment with his father, who’s an alcoholic, and  he’s an outsider at school. He’s full of amorphous feelings that bring on a restlessness, and to ease the pressure he steals cars and drives about aimlessly before abandoning them. It’s a purposeless act, and he’s not sure why he does it. He winds up being arrested and sent to a detention center for wayward youths. When released he returns home and tries to get straight. But it’s hard. Weesner makes Alex and his predicament believable. We’re in his mind for over 300 pages, but he isn’t presented in an outwardly sympathetic way; he’s not made a victim, or particularly sensitive or insightful. And yet – as they say – I felt for him. His father plays a big role in his life. He’s a good man – kind and understanding – and he holds a steady job at a factory, but his unhappiness constantly leads him to the bottle. The mother is an uncaring absentee in Alex’s life, and I felt antagonistic toward her. Yes, this book generated strong feelings in me. It was Weesner’s first novel, written when he was in his late thirties. It’s clearly autobiographical; he was Alex, complete with the theft of cars, the stay in a detention center, the dropping out of school and joining the army (which is where Thief ends). It’s very hard to write about oneself – to do it truthfully. But this unadorned work rings true. 4

The Ox-Bow Incident – Walter Van Tilburg Clark

In the first twenty or so pages I had problems. There was too much detailed description of men whose role in this affair had not been established. And then, when news of a cattle rustling and murder are delivered to the saloon, and a posse is proposed, with the intent of capturing and lynching the perpetrators, one character goes into a long speech about Justice and the Law vs. mob rule. He reappears at the end, wrestling with the issue of guilt. These are lapses – readers can arrive at their own conclusions about such issues without a spokesperson expounding them. In his Introduction to the edition issued by the Time Reading Program, Clark writes that the book “overexplains itself, to some extent.” True. The book is at its best when it simply allows the strength of the tale to take over. And with the arrival of the authoritative figure of Major Tetley things start to move with purpose. Move slowly, but the with an inevitability that’s unsettling. Unsettling because the reasonable option of bringing the three accused men into town is rejected. The person telling the story, in the first person, is Art Croft, and he constitutes the novel’s main strength. He’s an observer who sees both sides, but doesn’t back either. In his telling the inner natures of various people are revealed, and the moral issues emerge naturally. The atmosphere Clark creates is as bleak as the lives of people who live in Bridger’s Wells. This is a “western” without one bit of glamour or heroics. Incident was another first novel (I’ve been rereading a lot of first novels, haven’t I?). 4

No Laughing Matter – Joseph Heller and Speed Vogel

No, it isn’t a laughing matter. I’ve started three books by and about writers, and have been hugely disappointed in all of them. I’m reviewing Laughing because I got further into it than I did with the other two (though not to the halfway point). I abandoned ship because I couldn’t bear to spend any more time with Heller and his pal Speed. The story: Heller comes down with Guillain-Bare syndrome and is hospitalized for six months. His chapters alternate with Speed’s. Seems Heller is a quite a character, cranky and rude, but everybody just loves the guy. They’d give their eye teeth for him. And all these people are Somebodies, many with names you’d recognize: Mel Brooks, Zero Mostel, Dustin Hoffman, Mario Puzo. Everybody who runs in the Heller/Vogel gang is a colorful character, and they know all the In Places in New York. They do such things as form a Gourmet Club; every week they go to Chinatown and gorge themselves while carrying on with tremendous wit (according to Speed, they far exceed the Algonquian Club in witty repartee). But I saw no evidence of wit. What stands out – glaringly– from the Speed sections is the word “friend.” If I had the energy I’d count how many times that word appears in one of his chapters; it would surely set a world record. Everybody is a friend if you’re famous and wealthy. If you’re neither, New York can be a dismal place. Sour grapes? Well, back when I first read this book I was young and impressionable. Now I’m old and cynical. Who sees the truth more clearly? This is a phoney book, a lame attempt to make money. Heller offers up descriptions of his condition and treatment, but in only one chapter does he touch (lightly) on emotions like fear and  depression. Instead he meets a nurse who’s just about perfect, and love takes over. That’s when I checked out. The other two books? Both had an ass-kissing feel. In A Friendship Willie Morris gives a loving portrait of James Jones. Too much love for me to stomach. In A Private Correspondence Lawrence Durrell exchanges letters with Henry Miller. It begins with an adoring fan letter, and what proceeds is a high-blown literary discussion. How I was ever able to follow this convoluted nonsense is a mystery to me. I guess it was that impressionable stage I was in. I thought, as someone with literary ambitions, that this was the life fo me. But now I see the callousness and indifference of that exclusionary world. (All three books are deletions)