Straight Man

[Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography (cclapcenter.com). I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted illegally.]

I was all excited when I first stumbled across this in the "New Additions" section of the Chicago Public Library's ebook collection, because I thought I had randomly come across Pulitzer winner Richard Russo's newest title just minutes after it had been announced at the website, and therefore was going to get to check it out before anybody else; but in fact, although it was new to their collection, the book itself is from 1997, and in fact is one of the more well-loved ones of his entire career. A gentle character-based comedy about life among show more academes in a small college town, like Michael Chabon's Wonder Boys and Jane Smiley's Moo it takes the self-reflective topic of writing professors on a closed campus (usually a no-no in writing guides for beginners) and embraces it for all it's worth, really delving into the quirky little details that come specifically with academic life, but spicing it up with enough interesting plot developments to make it much more than the usual piece of circle-jerking masturbation than the "writing professor writing about writing professors" subgenre usually produces. And of course, in this case things are helped immensely as well by the main character being such a fascinatingly complex and charming curmudgeon, an aging fiction professor who has long ago accepted his fate at the third-tier podunk college where they all gossip and backbite, and who in his very mild way has decided to rage against the machine which is campus pettiness, combining a world-weary attitude with occasional bursts of M*A*S*H-style outrageous actions, including his habit of playing the Motley Fool whenever in front of the local media just to stir up more crap for his overlords on the school's board of directors. I usually have a low tolerance for this kind of metafictional material, but again like Wonder Boys and Moo this is a rare exception, expressly because Russo takes the time and energy to put together a wonderfully entertaining, sometimes legitimately thrilling story to take place in this environment, instead of the usual endless whiny screeds about middle-aged men having affairs with their 19-year-old students. It comes hugely recommended, and makes me even more excited than I was to finally tackle his Pulitzer-winning Empire Falls for the CCLaP 100 later this year. show less

Loved, loved, loved this book. The main character, Hank Devereaux is just a mess, but a likable one. On his academic campus, Hank is the rebel without a cause. He delights in being unpredictible and stirring things up to often hilarious results. However, there's also substance to the novel as Hank, who is nearing his 50th birthday, is coming to terms with the passing of youth and with his own mortality. This situation and the insight granted the reader by Hank's first person narrative makes the character believable and we find that Hank's often outrageous behavior may be his only coping mechanism in accepting what his life has become versus what he thought it would be.

To summarize: It a beautifully written gem of a book, and it's well worth reading, especially if you can give the author a little wiggle room at the end and be open to the soft ending.

Richard Russo is the writer that I've read the most since joining Goodreads.(With the exception of Jim Butcher (who's in a different class since he writes serialized pulp)), In the last four years, I've read That Old Cape Magic (so-so), Empire Falls (big, smart, and full of heart), and now, Straight Man.

One thing that really interests me about Russo's works are the recurring themes: parents who are academics, marital infidelity (always with the main character's parents), real estate and houses, and the general sense of people (especially main characters) show more being stuck in their lives. Russo's protagonists tend to be passive and are often surrounded by more virile men who get laid more often and who talk a lot more smack. Russo revisits all off these in Straight Man which is (roughly) about a well-meaning troublemaker of a college professor, William Henry "Hank" Devereux, whose life (career, family ties, long term friendships) bristles, then explodes one fine spring. The whole thing spins into a smartly comic midlife crisis including such elements as the return of his philandering father who feels immense guilt about his critical approach to Charles Dickens, the world's most dysfunctional English Department (and that's saying something), donkey basketball (don't ask), and mortal threats to a passive-aggressive goose. Oh, and hysterical prostate condition. (again, don't ask)

Straight Man is beautifully written and offers a lot of insight into the human condition (especially in an academic context). As a part time teacher myself, I felt like Russo really captures the sense of cultural loss (although I think he's a bit too cynical at times) as colleges comes to value higher education less and less, instead focusing on a model that focuses more on remedial ed. for those who were failed by their high schools / parents and build-your-career programs. That's not to say that remedial ed. And career aren't important. They are precisely important because that's what we need to get by, but you can tell that something's missing which is that there was a time when there an intrinsic value is just being learned.

If there's one small flaw in Straight Man, it's the ending (and that's why I give it four stars instead of five). For a book with a beginning and middle that crackle with the energy of a complicated web of plot, the ending is a "soft fade" of sorts. (In this aspect, it reminds me of the ending of No Country for Old Men, although NCFOM's ending was far worse). In the conclusion of Straight Man, the ends of lot of the big plot points are merely summarized. The stories don't end as much as they drift into ambiguous moments that contain meaning. This isn't bad, but I feel like it would have been better to end with a pie fight or something. Or possibly an armed invasion. Or an invading force armed only with pies and maybe some angry geese thrown in.

In the end Hank, our main man, is strangely unchanged (although his bladder condition improves- don't ask). If he proves anything, it's that he is his own man. And maybe that's what the book is about. Actually, the best thing about the ambiguous ending(s) is that has achieved the desired effect of making me think about life- particularly in context of Hank's midlife crisis- and wonder what it's all about. show less

There is a great scene at the end of Straight Man that really epitomizes a big part of what the novel is all about. A large group of professors at a going away party for one of their colleagues has crowded into a small room and shut the door. Since the door swings inward, however, when it is time leave all of the professors rush forward at once, making it impossible to open the door and escape. As Hank Devereaux, the main character in this wonderful satire of modern campus life, explains:

Clearly, the only solution was for all of us to take one step backward so that the door could be pulled open. By this point a group of plumbers, a group of bricklayers, a group of hookers, a group of chimpanzees would have figured this out. But the show more room contained, unfortunately, a group of academics, and we couldn’t quite believe what had happened to us.

Believe it or not, this actually represents a happy (or at least a fitting) ending, given all of the seriocomic events that have preceded it. The story centers on Hank, the acting chairman of an extremely dysfunctional English Department at a mediocre state university that is undergoing deep budget cuts. To make matters worse, Hank is in the throes of a mid-life crisis that has its roots in his strained (to say the least) relationship with his mother and father. Hank’s issues manifest themselves in both mental and physical forms and lead to several truly hilarious passages, including ones where he threatens on camera to kill a duck a day until the budget problems are resolved or crawls into the ceiling above his office to avoid his colleagues and ends up spying on a faculty meeting.

In the hands of a writer less talented than Russo, all of this could feel contrived or even fall flat altogether. Straight Man, though, is a dead-on treatment of the pure folly that often underlies the politics and relationships—both personal and professional—at a large university. But as humorous as the book is—and it is really, really funny—the author manages to deliver serious messages on themes such as aging, loyalty to both family and professional colleagues, confronting one’s past, and suicide. As someone who has worked in higher education for more than thirty years, I make it a point to read as many campus novels as possible. Without question, this one has to be placed near the top of that list. show less

I'm really not a fan of Richard Russo, but this book was different -- a campus comedy -- and it struck my fancy. It is a funny and involving novel from the author of Mohawk and Nobody's Fool. With writing teacher Hank Devereaux Richard Russo has created an English professor who is truly fun to read about. Devereaux has written one novel (Off the Road) and has settled into an embattled stint as department head at an academic sinkhole where he finds it prudent to simply tread water and go with the flow. Hank tries to keep his wits about him by adopting the philosophical principle known as Occam's Razor (that the simplest explanation of a phenomenon or problem is usually the correct one), but his life keeps getting in the way. He is show more surrounded by stereotypical characters who unexpectedly are full of colorful life. And, in addition to possible prostate cancer, Hank is assailed by even more undignified woes: His nose is bloodied by a poet's notebook, and he's suspected (with good reason) of murdering a goose--and of even worse things--by a hilarious, vividly rendered cadre of fellow academics, townspeople, and students, each of whom is sharply individualized. Plot is only secondary in a Russo novel. This one seduces and charms with its voice (i.e., Hank Devereaux's): Laconic, deadpan, disarmingly modest and self-effacing, it's the perfect vehicle for one of Russo's irresistible revelations of the agreeable craziness of everyday life. I did not want the story to end because of the way Russo mixes all of the characters together. It was a book that made me happy that I spent some time along with him for the ride. show less

An outstanding academic satire about a professor at a remote Pennsylvania state school where getting tenure "was a little like being proclaimed the winner of a shit-eating contest".

If measured by the number of laugh-out-loud moments it provides, this is quite possibly the funniest book I have ever read. No one who has spent (done?) time in academia should miss it, and even those outside the ivy-covered walls will appreciate Russo's hapless characters and deliriously absurd situations.