Chad Harbach

As the dark coolly draped over the heat-soaked desert foothills, I concentrated on the radio call for the San Francisco Giants series opener against the Rockies. The cool air outside the window where I sat and listened was no match for the crispness of the mile-high air in Coors Field. The stands sounded full, echoing just over the announcers banter, a tribute to the Rockies’ overachievement in the early weeks of the season. Maybe Tulowitzki is stealing signs, maybe not; maybe the team show more sneaks a non-humidor ball into the ump’s pouch at a critical time, maybe not. Even though I couldn’t see, I held my breath a little with each pitch, hoping Bumgarner, with his crane-like pivot, could sweep a 93 mph fastball over the corner of the plate. Or would the ball hang up just enough for the batter eye’s to widen with lust. As the final outs approached, the Giants were on top by a run thanks to a double that snaked into the left field corner, hit by a player that wore Rockies’ gray and purple last year. The Giants closed within one strike of victory. But the slight, wiry closer, the one with the beard sculpted to a gnome-like point, slotted a slider that a Rockies’ batter sent to the top of the wall in left field, scoring two. It’s only May. The Giants lead their division with one of the best records in baseball. It’s only one game. But listening to the excited voices of the announcers describing the path of the ball down the left field line turned my stomach. What is it about this game?

[The Art of Fielding], Chad Harbach’s debut novel, ponders the pull of the game, and how it mirrors life, transcending sport in so many ways. Not everyone sees that. Not everyone understands the game’s dichotomy: the routine interrupted by flashes of brilliant excitement and agony; the repeated failure broken by dizzying moments of success. Does that not describe life?

The book follows the life of Henry Skrimshander, a shortstop phenom, graceful and lithe on the field of play, but empty in all other ways except the pursuit of perfection. Playing college ball for a small, liberal arts college, ‘the Skrimmer’ develops an errorless streak that threatens to break records, only to see a rare errant throw destroy the face of a teammate. In that split second of failure, the minute slip of a finger, human fragility descends and consumes Henry. The doubt and confusion that follows, reflects the struggles of the people in Henry’s life: Schwartz, the captain of the team who suddenly loses his own single-minded path in life, Guert Affentlight, the college president who begins to pursue a love affair that will destroy his career; Pella, Guert’s daughter who is floundering from an abusively manipulative marriage. All of these obsessively single-minded people are confronted with the folly of life, the inability to control the ball as it teeters over the foul line, rolling independent and unmindful of everything around it, like life.

Harbach’s novel isn’t perfect, but even the most perfect of games often carries a blemish. Harbach occasionally loses his way in the narrative, almost working too hard to cobble a plot that carries his themes. Similarly, in Henry and Schwatz, he’s created such single-minded and obsessed people that their credibility as real humans comes into question – their workout routines, eating habits, and sleep schedules really push the boundaries of plausibility. But outside of these faults, Harbach presents an addictive read.

Baseball isn’t life; I know that somewhere in my rational brain. But in my heart, I see so much of life reflected on the field. Maybe that’s why I can’t stand to see the Giants to lose even one game, why I want every pitcher to pitch the perfect game, even though I know that the reality of life is that they will fail more often than they succeed. It is the search for perfection, the hope of permanent brilliance that keeps the heart alive. Harbach taps into that elusive knowledge with [The Art of Fielding], bringing a brief moment of brilliance into the routine of life.

Bottom Line: A baseball book that beautifully taps into the connections between the game and life.

4 ½ bones!!!!! show less

No, no, no, no…. NO! This is absolutely NOT the kind of novel we should be seeing on the 1001 list. Absolutely not. This is not a novel anyone needs to read before they die.

Harbach spent 10 years on this, his first novel. Margaret Mitchell also spent a decade crafting her first. Unlike Gone with the Wind though, The Art of Fielding is not, and never will be, a classic. While their novels have nothing in common, let’s hope that Harbach is inspired by the example Mitchell set of never show more writing another one again.

The Art of Fielding could have been a good novel. Instead, Harbach needed 3,650+ days to turn a good idea for a psychological novel about a baseball player hitting a run of bad form into a completely sterile and utterly predictable USAnian college drama.

For the academic plot, there’s the dean who has a fling with a student, there’s a dysfunctional parent-child relationship and, because one dysfunctional relationship can never be enough, a marriage on the rocks.

For the sport plot, there’s the jock, there’s the rookie, there’s the ageing, irascible, inscrutable coach and there’s the team who suck one year and win the nationals against all the odds the next.

Ooops… did I spoil it for you?

There’s romance, there’s drama, there’s comedy (well, attempts at it), and there are tears. It’s made for TV from the get go, and North American box-set-bingers will lap it up as they watch every loose end get tied into nice pretty pink bows.

If you’re into airport novels, this is right up your street. It’s an easy read, characters have predictable personalities and do predictable things, and the feel-good factor is laid on thick as everyone walks into the sunset in some kind of literary group hug. That’s what it is.

What it is not is a good novel. Get it off the 1001 list. show less

Writing a baseball book set at a small midwestern liberal arts college seems daunting enough - how much story could there possibly be there? - but Harbach also tackles questions of independence, aging and coming-of-age, ambition, and most importantly, friendship.

The story revolves around the intertwined lives of five characters: Henry Skrimshander, shortstop prodigy; Mike Schwartz, the Westish College player who recruits and trains Henry; Owen Dunne, Henry's roommate and teammate; Guert show more Affenlight, the president of the school; and Pella Affenlight, Guert's young prodigal daughter who shows up at Westish after fleeing her marriage.

My favorite thing about The Art of Fielding was that I really liked all the main characters. I wanted to spend time with them. I rooted for their happiness and success. I didn't sense that the author was ambivalent or wanted me to be ambivalent about any of them; there was a tone of goodwill towards and between the characters. When these folks made mistakes, Harbach and I regretted it on their behalf. So what if the whole character of Owen is extremely unlikely? I enjoyed him.

I also appreciated that the writing was unself-conscious and stayed out of the way of the story. Harbach won't win any awards for the spectacular or creative or clever use of the English language, but he's a wizard at turning a nearly-500 page book into something totally readable.

One reviewer commented on the pathetic humor of one particular scene, in which Guert, sitting in his annoyingly stationary office chair, reflects on a line from his favorite author, Herman Melville, referring to the "snivelization" of society. Guert wishes for the "swivelization" of society. He just wants his chair to turn. Far from being pathetic, I thought this was a perfect example of how Harbach develops character through an omniscient narrator. For Guert, Melville changed his life; this thought of his reinforces how much everything is connected to Melville for him. It also shows us that although he's not a particularly witty guy, he's not the stiff, elitist type you'd expect from an aged ex-Harvard man. He's happy, and a little silly sometimes. I liked him more after this scene. I related to him. show less

Set in the world of college baseball, The Art of Fielding is about aspiration, failure, and recovery. It also tells a compelling story, not only of Henry's challenges, doubts, and triumphs, but also of the love affairs and friendships that tie together the chief characters: Henry Skrimshander, the perfect shortstop until one error leads to a loss of confidence; Mike Schwartz, the mentor and teammate who guides Henry to potential greatness; Owen Dunne, Henry's gay college roommate whose love show more affair impacts all the other characters; Guert Affenlight, the college president who falls unexpectedly in love for the first time; and Pella Affenlight, his daughter, who is seeking a purpose for her life. All these unfolding stories make the novel very readable. These five characters are bound together in a struggle of love and betrayal that mirrors the art of fielding.

I thought the book was too long but possibly the author felt he needed it so the reader could understand the complexity of the five characters. I didn't love it as much as some of the other members of my book club. I enjoyed the first half but felt let down by the last half. At first I wasn't sure I would like it a book about baseball at all but I believe this is not a baseball novel, but a complex story of relationships and the connections between friends and teammates. show less