The Sportswriter: Bascombe Trilogy (1)

This book was a joy to read - and to begin the journey of Frank Bascombe as Ford travels through his life here and in the other two Frank Bascombe novels I will read next. Ford is an extraordinary author, because as he tell of the lives of his characters, he's also telling our own in a way that makes us understand ourselves better. Who can't use more of that?

Richard Ford's "The Sportswriter" by now has become the only slightly less heralded prequel to his Pulitzer Prize winning "Independence Day". While critics have been nearly unanimous in their praise for Ford's breakthrough novel, readers have been more divided about its merits. Some allege its lack of plot, others complain about the seemingly interminable stream of consciousness styled interior monologue of its central character. But what makes failed novelist turned sportswriter Frank Boscombe such an enduring figure in American literature may be his more than passing resemblence to Willy Loman and his litany of everydayman insecurities. Surely, the dank whiff of failure about Frank's middle aged crisis struck existence is a condition that most educated American males can relate to. Bereaved of a child and divorced from a wife (referred to only as X) whom he still vaguely regards as part of his environment, Frank finds himself drifting into a permanent state of "dreaminess", which when he explains himself turns out to be a place we've all been before though few would care to admit it. X and sportsmen in general, he calls factualists. Their lives are purposeful, defined, nailed down by very specific goals. Sportswriting allows Frank to abdicate from making any real decisions because his duty is only to report. Should it surprise that Frank scores a big zero on the relationship front ? Dreaminess isn't conducive to the making of any real friendships. With women, there's at least sex, though his fling with Vicky proves to be another rudderless affair. With men, there's even less incentive to fake interest. When fellow divorced men's club member Walter confesses his dark secret, Frank doesn't want to know, so when Walter finally chucks it in, Frank's response is one of incomprehension. The quality of Ford's writing is consistently excellent and never less than satisfying. Literate, sensitive and honest, he manages even to win sympathy for a hero whom many less charitable may regard as a wimp. For all Frank's faults, we root for him because we recognise something of us in him. The novel ends on a hopeful note which leaves a smile on our face. "The Sportswriter" is a wonderful novel.

Richard Ford is a great writer. This book was considered a marvel in its time, a writers book passed around by writers, though it didn't have much "buzz" beyond the fiction writing community. Seeing it on here makes me want to take off a day, go by the beach and reread to end up the way Mr. Bascomb does. There is something in the modest respect for the real details of life and its limitations and an eye for the realities of life in this and all of Ford's work. Of course, this is necessary reading because Ford's sequel with the same character, married and a decade or so later was his Independence Day that won the Pulitzer and the National Book Award, a larger more ambitious work, but with the same accuracy, modesty, and wisdom.

Okay, ladies: in spite of the title, go right out and buy this book. If you've ever complained that you just don't understand what makes men tick, The Sportswriter was meant exactly for you.Frank Bascombe's young son has just died, his marriage has crumbled, and his promising career as a novelist has failed - and the guy's only in his late 30s. Depressing, right? Right. For sure. Sooooo, why bother, you might ask? Answer: Frank has a rich inner life that makes you want to stick with him. This is where his problems originate. We know he is sensitive (these days, we'd say he has a well-developed feminine side) and cares about the pleasures of life's small moments - but he's got a typical male problem: He can't express this side of himself to those closest to him, resorting to moral dishonesty rather than expose himself as a caring human.Read it, ladies. Then read the sequel, Independence Day, which won the Pulitzer in 1996. But read this one first. It's important.

It's been about a month since I finished reading this book, and the narrator Frank Bascombe's unique voice and emotional silhouette have joined those of the friends, relatives, and acquaintences I've met who have had a profound effect on me. It's not often that a fictional character is so sharply and honestly drawn that his/her perceptions stay with me like that. As with the Beatles' Nowhere Man, I think there's a bit of Frank Bascombe in all of us. Frank is the part of us that has been damaged by the disappointments of life, and yet has managed to repair those damages to the best of our abilities and live on in spite of them.Frank is a decent guy. He has a hard time making close friends, and maybe believes you can't really have close friends as an adult. He's doing the best he knows how, though. He's a sportswriter, rather than a novelist (which is what he should really be) because sportswriting doesn't demand much of him.His goal is to live purely inside himself like the athletes he writes about. This means refraining from the dreaminess he is so prone to, the wandering outside the lines of his self. It hurts Frank to wander too far from his literal surroundings. Dreaming for Frank is like eating a bowl of ice cream laced with small chunks of broken glass. It's deliciously painful.Frank is very upfront with himself and with most of the people who wander into his life. He has learned by experience that he must be this way if he is to avoid pain. Still, there is something about Frank that makes me sad. Something that I feel he is hiding too well from himself. He has talked himself into believing that he is okay living the shell of a life he has constructed.Frank is both heroic and pitiable. He is honest and yet largely controlled by his fears. He is frustratingly human.Richard Ford is an amazingly perceptive writer. He draws this character with the sharpness of a cold, stropped razor. The cuts are so deep and clean, you don't even feel any pain until you touch the wound. Truly amazing. I'm eagerly looking forward to reading the sequel, "Independence Day" later this summer.