Skip to main content

The Great (Gay) American Novel

 Jane Austen used a certain template: two people circle each other, then fall in love, then the story ends.


George Eliot and Henry James changed the game. Both writers asked, what if marriage is *not* the end? Dorothea marries Casaubon, but it turns out that Casaubon is an empty vessel. So--for years--we watch as Dorothea squirms. And Isabel Archer finds herself entangled with the villainous Gilbert Osmond. She can't escape. The recitation of vows is just an "opening act" in a lengthy horror story.

Now we have Patrick Ryan's "Buckeye." The beating heart of this novel is Felix, a young gay man who tries to pass as straight around the climactic years of the Second World War. Felix finds himself married to Margaret; the writer seems to take sadistic pleasure in describing many evenings of bad sex. "Felix felt that he had performed admirably." "He was ambitious this evening; after some careful preparatory work, he was able to hit his marks."

Felix then goes off to war. We might suspect that he has a death wish. On "the island," he meets a friend, Augie; soon, the two are "boning" in a tent. When Augie dies, a semi-comatose Felix is a bit too obviously upset. "Can we talk about Augie?" asks a psychiatrist. "On your worst days, you were always asking about him." (And Felix thinks, "Once. I asked about him ONCE.")

In a sudsy soap opera, there should be a paternity mystery. Sure enough, in "Buckeye," Felix reunites with his (faithless) wife, and a modestly successful sexual encounter occurs. The resulting fetus might belong to Felix. But maybe not. Regardless, is Felix capable of staying alive? Having been shattered by the war, is he resilient enough to keep trudging along?

The consensus is that "Buckeye" is that great, noteworthy thing--an old-fashioned character-driven novel. A novelist equipped to pull this off is a rare find. (In fact, basically all of the first-tier novelists in this country have rallied around "Buckeye." Alice McDermott, Richard Russo, Tom Perrotta, Ann Patchett. I do not see quotes from Mona Simpson or Michelle Huneven, but this seems to be an oversight. "Buckeye" is a Mona Simpson-adjacent novel.)

A work of fiction needs to be as seamless and vivid as a dream. Patrick Ryan has worked hard to get his dream onto the page. You feel--pretty quickly--that you're in good hands.

Worthy of the hype.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...
1 comment
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more