melanie_page's review
5.0
I admit it: frustration strikes me when writers write about writing. Woe-is-me, and whatnot, is typically the message. But Dave Newman’s third novel hogtied this reader and dragged her behind the truck. The first page is funny, and it never stops. Much like stand-up comedians who receive peals of laughter from the terrible TRUTH of situational jokes, Newman’s scenes made me laugh in horror at the recognition of myself, friends, colleagues, and former teachers. Really, this is a book for the typical small-press reader: most likely you are a professor struggling to make ends meet, and a writer, and imbibe alcohol.
The narrator wears many “hats.” His basement office has two desks for three adjuncts. And honestly, what do you do when you’re such a poor adjunct/writer/parent/spouse that you can’t afford a bulletproof vest, and you’re certain one of your students might shoot you if you don’t give him that A and his poems are rhyming about dark souls and revenge?
When the narrator’s students write poems about committing suicide, he points out that they’re young and should seek the ode to getting laid. Word gets around (as it always does). This is a book that deserves to be quoted from extensively, because the writing sells itself: “Then [the students] wrote a letter of complaint to the head of the English Department who passed it on to the head of the Writing Department who pulled me aside after a meeting and said, ‘Real fucking nice,’ though he’s an old alcoholic from eastern Kentucky with a thing for girls and once, thirty-some years ago, he taught an entire workshop half-naked and drunk on moonshine while waving a pistol to emphasize the importance of geography and local color in fiction writing.”
The only way the narrator and his wife can make ends meet is if she accepts an amazing opportunity—in Alaska. They turn it down for their love of Pittsburgh, causing the narrator to get a job working midnights building hubcaps in addition to adjunct teaching. When Kentucky Jim dies (by the way, he publishes a book, gets tenure, and never writes again—for 30 years), the new head of the Writing Department cleans house and hires new applicants. Imagine where that leaves our narrator. If you’re worried the plot will bum you out and remind you of your own situation, rest assured: the characters are so unusual as to how they handle life that you will be surprised. When the narrator explains he’s in a strip club, his wife doesn’t even balk. The full-bodied characters Newman creates are the essence of change, breath, life, mistakes. You’ll see yourself mirror in their words and decisions. You’ll fall in love with the rotten situation of your own life again, because, honestly, when will you ever make such terrible decisions in honor of knowledge again?
NOTE: English majors should be forced to read this novel before being allowed to apply for graduate school.
The narrator wears many “hats.” His basement office has two desks for three adjuncts. And honestly, what do you do when you’re such a poor adjunct/writer/parent/spouse that you can’t afford a bulletproof vest, and you’re certain one of your students might shoot you if you don’t give him that A and his poems are rhyming about dark souls and revenge?
When the narrator’s students write poems about committing suicide, he points out that they’re young and should seek the ode to getting laid. Word gets around (as it always does). This is a book that deserves to be quoted from extensively, because the writing sells itself: “Then [the students] wrote a letter of complaint to the head of the English Department who passed it on to the head of the Writing Department who pulled me aside after a meeting and said, ‘Real fucking nice,’ though he’s an old alcoholic from eastern Kentucky with a thing for girls and once, thirty-some years ago, he taught an entire workshop half-naked and drunk on moonshine while waving a pistol to emphasize the importance of geography and local color in fiction writing.”
The only way the narrator and his wife can make ends meet is if she accepts an amazing opportunity—in Alaska. They turn it down for their love of Pittsburgh, causing the narrator to get a job working midnights building hubcaps in addition to adjunct teaching. When Kentucky Jim dies (by the way, he publishes a book, gets tenure, and never writes again—for 30 years), the new head of the Writing Department cleans house and hires new applicants. Imagine where that leaves our narrator. If you’re worried the plot will bum you out and remind you of your own situation, rest assured: the characters are so unusual as to how they handle life that you will be surprised. When the narrator explains he’s in a strip club, his wife doesn’t even balk. The full-bodied characters Newman creates are the essence of change, breath, life, mistakes. You’ll see yourself mirror in their words and decisions. You’ll fall in love with the rotten situation of your own life again, because, honestly, when will you ever make such terrible decisions in honor of knowledge again?
NOTE: English majors should be forced to read this novel before being allowed to apply for graduate school.
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