I went apple picking last week. The farm had a delightful sunflower maze in a far corner. I loved wandering the path through the tall stalks, listening to all the bees, and cutting flowers to bring home.
Watched Nöthin’ But a Good Time, a three-episode docuseries adaptation of Tom Beaujour and Richard Bienstockwhich’s 2021 book of the same name. A good time: history of 80s rock and hair metal, entertaining, sparking buzzsaw codpieces, big hair, Penelope Spheeris like, “It had to end sometime guys.” A not-so-good time: drugs, booze, death, misogyny. Still, it’s a worthwhile watch for those who enjoy The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years (which I settle in to rewatch once a year, lol). Do we qualify Odin’s Randy O in assless chaps, Chris Holmes’ pool interview, and women dancing on the Gazzari stage as a comfort or a discomfort watch?
I know I love the excess: volume, performances, hair. Though perhaps what resonates on a deeper level is the element of commitment, the all-in energy of the bands and audience members. The sense that everyone owned whatever role they decided to play in that scene. Is this what we talk about when we talk about authenticity? (An ironic question, considering the performance and showmanship on full display in Decline.)
Before the month began, I had a vision of offering up a back-to-school roundup. Then my interest fizzled. Really I just wanted to write a little about Stoner by John Williams, a book I put on a campus novel display anytime we make one at the bookstore. What’s wild is that this is a book I was not “all in” to read when I first heard of it and it’s now one of my favorite novels.
Stoner is a campus novel, coming-of-age story, and a portrait of a life. William Stoner, born to a poor Missouri family, pivots from agricultural study at college to pursue a life in literature and academia. When I first met this book, I’d been inhaling contemporary campus novels, most of which were satirical. The humor eased the self-conscious sting I felt when I thought about how I wasn’t doing a job that many writers do: teach. I’d just returned to bookselling, after leaving a few years before to try my luck at adjunct life. Would a serious and earnest book resonate?
Turns out, it could…and did. Now whenever this book crosses the counter at work, I get excited for whoever is about to read it because something I love about Stoner is how it details stepping into a very specific kind of awareness: recognizing the gap between our passion and how that squares off in the everyday world. In Stoner’s case, this is a devotion to language, reading, and writing. Something that’s stuck with me is a scene in which Stoner goes to teach his first class as a PhD student. He’s ostensibly prepared, lesson planned. Yet he fumbles through the class. Meanwhile, in his own coursework, Stoner is animated, interested, curious. I love this moment because it points to the magic of being a lifelong student, the mystery of passion, how impossible it can feel to bridge the gap between what we know and how to talk about it and share it. Maybe all our botched attempts to pass along that excitement is part of the lifelong work of caring about anything worthwhile.
Stoner is a quiet novel, a work of subdued voltage that surprised me in how much it made me feel. The direct sentences open every now and again to the poetic imagery of every life, place, relationships. It’s almost like they get swept up in the beauty of the ordinary, work, daily life. With the incredible amount of restraint and subtlety the book demonstrates, I was surprised that I cried when I finished it, but I did. Isn’t it nice when books upend our expectations and make us weep?
On the horizon, I’m excited to read Olga Tokarczuk’s latest novel, The Empusium, which published on Tuesday. I enjoyed this conversation at LitHub between Tokarczuk and translator Antonia Lloyd-Jones, especially this on the novel’s subtle exploration of gender-sex tensions:
“I’m interested in everything that lies in between clearly defined opposites. Anything that’s not fully defined, that’s hard to categorize, internally contradictory, and is usually denied or forgotten because it doesn’t fit our rigid, limited image of the world.”
I don’t know about you, but I’m always hungry for art that transcends “our rigid, limited image of the world.” I’m currently reading a book that’s doing this and I’m excited to share a bit about it next week. Until then…
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