It seems ironically bold yet appropriate for a contemporary novelist to explore relevant American social issues through the artistic lens of undilutedIt seems ironically bold yet appropriate for a contemporary novelist to explore relevant American social issues through the artistic lens of undiluted realism. Within the context of a dying book industry, one desperately trying to convince consumers that fiction is still an appealing, worthwhile commodity to invest their time and money in, it’s often better to play it safe and tug on heartstrings and connect, than to fuss around with experimentation in the interest of moving things forward. And really: just how much forward momentum does the American novel have left? Jonathan Franzen seems to possess the answer to this question, as shown by his earnest, populist stance on what makes great fiction accessible. He's espoused these views in various personal essays, but his values as a novelist really seem to rise to the surface in his fiction. In his latest novel, Freedom, he continues to press forward with this stance, following up on his previous chronicle of American life in the 90’s, The Corrections, with yet another poignant look at the disintegration of the American family.
Set a decade after The Corrections, Freedom is set in the upper middle-class milieu of Ramsey Hill located in St. Paul, Minnesota. Patty, a once promising college basketball star – a unique female equivalent of Rabbit Angstrom of John Updike’s Rabbit tetralogy – of a wealthy New York background, is the wife of Walter Berglund, an obsessive environmentalist, 3M employee, and descendant of a blue-collar, Swedish family. We immediately hear of their son Joey, an aspiring republican; a young man, being raised in St. Paul who, “had received numberless assurances that his life was to be a lucky one.” Joey moves in with his neighbors, the Monaghans, a nasty caricature of people with no taste and a good deal of money, and begins sleeping with their daughter as the end of high school approaches. The Berglunds' daughter Jessica, a marginal character in the scope of this epic narrative, takes a few cues from her father’s idealism: she’s a multiculturalist with a strong aversion to the war in Iraq, prone to level-headed decision making and practical living. Franzen entices the reader with the family’s domestic woes before their move to Georgetown, anticipating the dissolution of the couples' marriage, before taking the narrative back to Patty’s childhood and teenage years with the aid of a memoir she wrote at the suggestion of her therapist.
Patty’s story, entitled Mistake Were Made, sets the tone for Freedom, regaling the reader with a typically American chronicle of a young woman from an affluent background, torn between the equally appealing, yet diametrically opposed, teenage universes of athletics and artistic self-discovery. In college, she meets Eliza, a self-absorbed train wreck who turns her on to The Velvet Underground and poetry. Patty doesn't immerse herself in Eliza's bohemian lifestyle directly, it's more like she passes through it as a cultural tourist. Through Eliza, she in turn meets a narcissistic rock star by the name of Richard Katz. Initially drawn in by Katz’ predictably liberal sexual views, she meets his less impressive, demure friend Walter, who seems to be more interested in arthouse films and overpopulation issues than he is with getting laid. Patty begins spending more time with Walter, while pining for Richard, and their relationship slowly develops into a reluctant, loveless marriage.
This quirky third person narrative (narrated by that very same person) sets the tone for a novel tumescent with emotional disappointment, deceit, and shameless narcissism. Only till later in the story do Patty’s indiscretions with Richard catch up to her, as Walter tries in vain to sustain a marriage that was doomed from the outset. Her son Joey’s sexually precocious, yet emotionally inept approach to his relationship with Connie Monaghan follows a similar pattern at the beginning, at least up until the point at which he manages to avoid actively pursuing the same deceitful mistakes that his mother made. Meanwhile, Jessica finds herself unable to find a suitable New York boy while in college. What she does manage to do is continue in the level-headed, ambitious footsteps of her father.
There is much socio-political commentary tacked on to these more personal dramas. Joey, in rebellion against his father’s soft liberalism, attempts to win the affection of his best friend's materialistic sister, explore his belatedly discovered Jewish heritage, and eventually tries his hand at success as a contractor for a Haliburtonesque security outfit. Walter teams up with Vin Haven, a Texas politician with ties to the Bush family, starting a mountain top removal project in Charleston, West Virginia convinced that this will aid saving a species of bird called the cerulean mountain warbler from extinction. Both of their endeavors backfire with devastating moral repercussions.
Freedom is a novel that invests much of its metaphorical significance in the various ideologies of its characters, and how these respective ideologies affect the way that we live in the world. Patty is a seemingly nihilistic malcontent with little to no concern for the people she hurts throughout her quest for personal happiness. Walter’s idealism reaches almost schizophrenic heights of fixation, anger, and paranoia, as he constantly fails to acknowledge that the evil aspects of American consumer culture aren’t part of such a black and white duality. In Joey’s angst and disdain, he treats Connie Monaghan in virtually the same way that Patty treated Walter, and Jessica exhausts all hope of personal happiness as she struggles to remain exert control on every aspect of her life.
While the trials and tribulations of these characters prove effective in shedding light on some of the more selfish aspects of the American economy and its political climate at the beginning of this century, they are also slightly myopic because they come across as the author’s personal frustrations with contemporary culture. Walter and Richard’s conversations – as they revel in their own hipness and political profundity - in front of Patty sound like an exhibitionistic portrayal of Franzen’s college days, reveling in earnest, yet naive, dissent. Many of Walter’s rants about the increasingly greedy and stupid culture surrounding him, as well as his ornithological passions (Franzen is a noted bird enthusiast), sound too much like an explosion of suppressed reactions to topical news headlines that Franzen has had over the years. If anything, this is the one caveat to what is an otherwise expertly told story of the pain and difficulty of raising a family in contemporary America.
Franzen is a gifted storyteller, one with a knack for mellifluous pacing. The narrative has that flow and engaging character development that one might discover in some of the more cinematic innovations of televised meldorama. His characters, while occasionally loathsome, seem too much like self-projections of his personal dissatisfaction with the world, albeit he manages to create relevant plights that many readers will find accessible. After the era of Cheever and Updike, it’s impressive that he can work within a realist’s range, and still make it sound fresh. It’s difficult to overlook the safeness of his works though. Freedom is a heartbreaking page-turner; an engrossing exploration of our post 9/11 daily realities as a country, and while this is certainly nothing to frown at, it doesn't seem like much to get excited about either.
There is a strikingly pathetic point in Saul Bellow’s novella Seize the Day, when the protagonist Wilhelm (let’s call him Tommy, his Hollywood alias) There is a strikingly pathetic point in Saul Bellow’s novella Seize the Day, when the protagonist Wilhelm (let’s call him Tommy, his Hollywood alias) Adler laments how the latter half of his existence will be occupied by analyzing the failures that occurred in the first half. In the depths of his dour fatalism he opines, “A person can become tired of looking himself over and trying to fix himself up. You can spend the entire second half of your life recovering from the mistakes of your first half.” This quote is taken from a conversation that Wilhelm has with his father, as he reaches to persuade him that his current failures are seemingly incurable, and that he needs his financial help. What he neglects to do, above all else, is take this point in his life to regroup and assess the reasons for his past failures.
In the earlier novels of Bellow, this is a fairly typical outburst; someone is dying to be understood so badly that a screaming tirade suddenly inundates the conversation the two characters are having. There is an almost evolutionary progression to the various protagonists of Bellow’s novels. We see Joseph, of Dangling Man striving to become a responsible man and join the army, desiring to mature and contribute something to his country. Augie March jumps from opportunity to opportunity in pursuit of his idea of the American Dream. Even Moses Herzog, in his late age – somewhat older than Wilhelm – continues to probe for the adequate amount of existential meaning required in order to enjoy life. Young and old alike, these men are troubled by their own selfish desires, which they occasionally confuse with what it takes to be a man in mid-century America.
At forty, Wilhelm is still shockingly naïve and idealistic. After dropping out of Penn State, he was swindled by the opportunism of a talent agent by the name of Maurice Venice. After accidentally catching his picture in the school paper, Venice convinces Tommy that his looks will carry him all the way to Hollywood and further. Like many other young people at the time, Tommy discovers that, not only has his artistic hopefulness led him nowhere, it has delayed his attention to his adult obligations to the world. To exacerbate things, he marries and has two children.
In the wake of artistic failure, many of us resign to careers or futures that will promise stability and some semblance of pride. The sobering reality of failure reunites us with the humbling, meek reassurance that comes with merely being capable of staying afloat in the world. Tommy briefly indulges in this act of quotidian redemption. He finds employment as a traveling salesman, and for awhile he manages to break even in life, again failing to realize that his life is no longer merely about just him.
Enter Dr. Adler, Tommy’s father, a well-respected physician whose mantra of restraint and forethought put Tommy’s impetuous desire to become a Hollywood star, to shame. Seize the Day takes place with in the span of one day in New York, but its title is also taken from a speech given to Tommy by a deceitful charlatan named Dr. Tamkin. Tamkin is reminiscent of a Wilhelm Reich, albeit more of a caricature of an intellectual snake-oil salesman. He persuades Tommy to work the market with him, investing in lard prices. Of course, Tamkin’s character is footing a smaller portion of the investment, and eventually he makes himself scarce at a crucial moment in Tommy’s life. Almost instantly down and out, Tommy begs for his father’s assistance. He is completely cut off from aid, rendered helpless and destitute, yet responsible for the livelihood of his family. The solution is more or less simple, and not outside of his reach, but his obstinacy drives him to the point of a breakdown, and he comes to see, in another man’s casket, his own future and the consequences of his fatal case of arrested development.
In Seize the Day, Bellow’s talent lies, not only in the believability of his dialogue, but the effortless pace at which the story unfolds, revealing such a complex set of lives and personal histories all in the span of a little over a hundred pages. Even Dr. Adler’s insufferable, septuagenarian German friend, Dr. Perls is fleshed out with the characteristic repugnance of old money. After Bellow establishes the tone of Tommy’s character, he offers him an opportunity to rant and speak his mind, only to be profoundly confronted by the ostensible immaturity and selfishness of his decisions. This is a novelistic quality somewhat unique to Bellow; that ability to shape a character, presumably based on the shortcomings of his own post-Depression struggles as a young man, and then challenge that character with the well-reasoned senescence of their elders. ...more
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