And I did this with the certainty that even if I were working straight from life, and was trying to deliver perfect facsimiles of people directly to the page, the truth is that the instant one puts pen to paper, fidelity to fact - or to one's original intention or even to sensation itself - almost always goes flying out the window. This is because language is an independent agent different from sensation, and tends to find its own loyalties in whimsy, context, the time of day, the author's mood, sometimes even maybe the old original intention - but many times not.
Martin Amis once wrote that "literature is a disinterested use of words. You need to have nothing riding on the outcome. From such a lyrical process I suppose one could produce an everyman. But even if you were very skillful, you'd have to be very lucky. And it was never my intention anyway. Of course, it's always my wish that readers do with my books what Walter Benjamin thought readers should do with stories - make use of them.
To some extent the spectator always makes the picture. And possibly some spectators who see Frank Bascombe simply have use for him as an everyman. But, vastly more than I want my characters to atomise into some general or even personal applicability, I want them first to be radiant in verbal and intellectual particularity, to not be an everyman but to revel in being specifically this man, this woman, this son, this daughter, with all his or her incalculability intact. And I make characters with this intention because I think we were all made and become interesting and dramatic and true by the very same method - which is to say, again, rather fortuitously.
These three novels were never really imagined as a trilogy, but only "developed" to that status one book at a time, leaving me pleasantly surprised, and pleasantly bemused, by the result.
- hyakuendehajimerufx (Japanese Edition).
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- The Sportswriter: Richard Ford: Bloomsbury Paperbacks.
I've always imagined the novels I've written to be entirely independent and free-standing enterprises - one book not requiring a previous book to become understandable. And this was true also of these three, although much industry was devoted by me, as I wrote the second two, to "linking" them and creating an illusion of chronological sequence, of a developing ie ageing main character, with a cohort of recurring secondary characters, recurring landscapes, historical events and more. I wrote The Sportswriter in a period of sustained panic in the middle s - most of the novel was written while I was living in New Jersey, Vermont and Montana - and at a time when my writing vocation was threatening to dematerialise in front of me, literally frightening me into a bolder effort than I ever supposed myself capable of.
Independence Day - begun in , in a rented seaside house in Jamestown, Rhode Island - I first imagined as a novel with no relation to any other book I'd written. It was to be a story about a beleaguered, well-intentioned divorced father who takes his "difficult", estranged teenage son on a trip to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York - and in so doing draws himself and his son emotionally closer.
All seemed to go well through the planning stages a year. But over that time I began to notice that all the father's projected calculations about life and events seemed, in my notes, to "sound" like Frank Bascombe's - the character who'd narrated The Sportswriter. I made dogged efforts to scuttle all thought of a "linked" book. I was fearful of helplessly writing that first novel over again; fearful of having more ambition than skill or sense; fearful of gloomy failure.
If I want suburban angst, I'll turn to Yates or Cheever. Sep 16, Max rated it liked it Shelves: My wife divorced me after she became disillusioned with me and I turned to other women to reaffirm my value.
The Sportswriter Summary & Study Guide
This change in our relationship and resulting divorce was precipitated by the death of our nine year old son, but I have always avoided any challenge and sought mediocrity. Many years ago I started out to be a novelist but it required a lot of thought so I settled for being a sportswriter. Writing about sports was easy for me as I can spin words on simple subjects with little effort.
This talent also helps me with the ladies, which I hit on continually with fair success as an escape from my lack of genuine connection to anybody, thing or place. New Jersey is the perfect place for me in my perception of its ultimate blandness which corresponds to my personality.
However with women I am not so choosy. I can come on to my classy talented ex-wife although she never gives in and some trashy Texas transplant and propose marriage to both on the same day without really caring about either. Some who have read my story say that I am everyman, but other readers with a little more concern for humankind certainly hope that is not the case. Feb 11, Ben Hourigan rated it really liked it. I've been raving about this book for months, chiefly on the basis of its opening chapters, which for me were an unprecedented exposition in art and such beautiful art, at that of the value of the ordinary, uncelebrated life.
THE SPORTSWRITER by Richard Ford | Kirkus Reviews
It's something I am often deep need of being reminded of, so often do I feel myself a failure, and curiously enough, it's one of the things I hope to remind others of later in my writing career. Maybe not just now—my first two books deal with the issues of one who falsely I've been raving about this book for months, chiefly on the basis of its opening chapters, which for me were an unprecedented exposition in art and such beautiful art, at that of the value of the ordinary, uncelebrated life.
Maybe not just now—my first two books deal with the issues of one who falsely? It is a thoroughly grown-up book, the kind I find consoling in my early thirties, and that I know I would have loathed in my teens, providing as it does no escape into imaginary worlds. But that's precisely the point: As much as I love this book, though, I must admit that I lost momentum several times while reading it: There is a thrilling afternoon of catastrophe towards the end, a very bad day which the hero, Frank Bascombe, endures with admirable grace, but apart from this, the later parts lack a narrative pull that draws you on—or at least, that can draw me on, in a distracted state of mind.
The writing style will not be to everyone's taste but it's a deep and thoughtful book tinged with a hint of melancholia. It does drag at times but i stuck with it and was richly rewarded. As the book only spans a few days there is a lot of thinking back to the past during moments in the present which works very well. I think if you are thirtysomething and pondering about life you will relate to this book. De grande quiero ser como mi hermano mayor.
El asunto es que ya soy grande. Y el mundo no cuestiona.
- The Sportswriter.
- The Sportswriter Summary & Study Guide?
- The Hymns of the Atharvaveda: Book IV.
- About The Sportswriter.
- MORE BY RICHARD FORD;
- Nacht der Verdammten (Wunschlos tot 4) (German Edition);
- Chance is a fine thing;
Solo entras en la inmensidad y te defiendes con lo que tienes a mano. La forma de pensar de Bascombe no me hubiera llegado antes. Y me llega hondo. Para alcanzar a comprender sus limitaciones como ser, para aceptar que no lo ve todo, y que no necesita verlo. Hay un humor que uno espera encontrar en las reuniones familiares, con esa acritud y familiaridad acostumbrada de quienes no se eligieron pero que crecieron juntos.
Frank Bascombe and his ex-wife—referred to as X throughout—arrive home from a night out to find their house ransacked. In making a list of the missing items for the police, X finds letters from another woman and demands to know who she is. Frank remains silent, and X, releasing the trapped fury created by the death of her son, her deteriorating marriage, and now the apparent infidelity of her husband, tears apart her hope chest and burns it in the fireplace. Ralph had been dead two years. The children were with their grandfather at the Huron Mountain Club, and I was just back from my teaching position at Berkshire College, and was hanging around the house more or less dumb as a cashew, but otherwise in pretty good spirits.
X found the letters in a drawer of my office desk while looking for a sock full of silver dollars my mother had left me, and sat on the floor and read them, then handed them to me when I came in with a list of missing cameras, radios and fishing equipment. She asked if I had anything to say, and when I didn't, she went into the bedroom and began tearing apart her hope chest with a claw hammer and a crowbar. She tore it to bits, then took it to the fireplace and burned it while I stood outside in the yard mooning at Cassiopeia and Gemini and feeling invulnerable because of dreaminess and an odd amusement I felt almost everything in my life could be subject to.
It might seem that I was within myself then. But in fact I was light years away from everything. The novel is the kind where not much happens, but everything that does rings of failure. Among its greatest virtues is its examination of the alien world of male friendship, one in which not even the natives fully understand the customs. Walter confides in Frank, hoping his confession will uncover a like mind. This is the only badge of true friendship I'm sure of: Speaking of the sergeant, Frank says, "He extends both his legs and crosses them at the ankles.
It is his way of inviting conversation between menfolk, though I'm stumped for what to say. It's possible he would understand if I said nothing.
Apr 29, CC rated it did not like it. About ten years ago I read the second book in this triglogy -- Independence Day, for which writer Richard Ford won a Pulitzer, and found his writing quite nice. Reminded of that, I picked this up, the first book in that trilogy. Either Ford's writing changed a great deal from one book to the other, or my tastes have changed, not sure which.
But this wasn't the type of writing I remembered. The book follows Frank Bascombe over an Easter weekend as he drifts around in his own mind, recalling the de About ten years ago I read the second book in this triglogy -- Independence Day, for which writer Richard Ford won a Pulitzer, and found his writing quite nice. The book follows Frank Bascombe over an Easter weekend as he drifts around in his own mind, recalling the death of his son a few years prior and his recent divorce, with a woman only known as X. Years earlier he had a collection of stories published, but abruptly quit writing early on to become a sportswriter -- a lot was made of this, it being brought up repeatedly, as I guess he regrets it.
For the entire novel he's got no energy, no gumption, no verve. He's got a new girlfriend, and maybe he'll marry her. He meets her parents. That's about as exciting as it gets. Not too much else happens in the way of plot. Maybe that was the point -- life's filled with regret and either shake it off or don't? I haven't a clue, really.
So much of it ran together that I simply stopped caring. I suppose Frank was having an early mid-life crisis, except he was so damn boring I couldn't help but to think it was all of his own making. If you want a life, you should probably, I don't know, act like you do and get involved -- care -- rather than expect everyone to comfort your ass and physically breathe life into you every second of the day.
There really wasn't anything but his own wobbly introspective thoughts going on page after page. By the way, what person in uses the word Negro? I mean -- what??!! The main character said it five or six times to describe different characters: The Negro boy, the Negro janitor The book takes place in the then present day New Jersey, not in the 's south. I kept wishing the main character would say that to one of their faces so I could witness him being punched in the mouth. But I didn't get the pleasure. View all 8 comments.
Oct 11, Stephen Burns added it. Another book I couldn't finish. This is about as dry as it gets, and the first half of the book is spent inside Bascombe's head. Nelle prime pagine Richard Ford apparecchia un quasi capolavoro: Frank Bascombe si racconta attraverso un flusso di coscienza impetuoso che per certi versi mi ha ricordato Nathan Zuckerman. Uomo alle soglie dei quaranta, divorziato, sopravvissuto forse troppo facilmente? Beninteso, i libri che Ford ha dedicato a Bascombe sono ben quattro: Jul 02, Tiffany Reisz added it.
A weird book but a good book. Too odd for a star rating. Frank would understand some things are too complicated for stars. Dec 13, Jacob rated it it was ok. Reminiscent of Updike's Rabbit series, The Sportswriter is the typical "midlife crisis" novel. I am sure there are plenty of people who would enjoy this book, but I am not one of them. I also did not like "Rabbit Run", the only one of those I got through.
While many of the characters in this novel are interesting, I never felt I got deeper than a surface glimpse of any of them. They are mostly miserable. And miserably ordinary, with ordinary lives and ordinary failings. Like many Reminiscent of Updike's Rabbit series, The Sportswriter is the typical "midlife crisis" novel. Like many books that stem from the "I know how to write because I got an MFA in Complete Sentences," school of fiction, the prose never engaged me beyond the fact that there were words on a white piece of paper. There is no real sharpness to the narrator's observations.
It all feels rather vague and boring. In fact, the main character's narration makes him appear bored with his existence. Yes, there is a decent amount of existential dread, but even this comes across as too matter-of-fact. I felt that the author never really dug deep into that cavernous pit of the human soul, the place where naughty thoughts of violence and sex reign.
Instead we only skim the surface, which is mild, tepid and safely milquetoasty. Oh, and there is very little humor that I could detect. Mar 14, David rated it really liked it Shelves: This review has been hidden because it contains spoilers. To view it, click here. He editorializes everything that happens over the weekend to psychoanalytical depths, without once admitting that he himself is profoundly depressed. Dreaminess is used in lieu of depression, and Ford renders this condition superbly believable. Frank is mostly absent from everything that occurs in this novel.
He withdraws into himself and tends only to interact with characters using the impetus of what is unspoken or undone. He believes he is direct and honest with people when he is, in fact, elusive and dishonest with himself. He self medicates with women. A paradox of reliability. Richard Ford ist der Meister der gnadenlosen Genauigkeit: Das macht auch bei diesem Buch den Genuss und die Herausforderung aus. Nichts ist schwerer zu ertragen als eine Reihe von Feiertagen.
Vermeintlich Uninteressantes wird kaum herausgefiltert, stattdessen haben wir so ziemlich an jedem Schritt, jeder wirklich oder vermeintlich unbedeutenden, Richard Ford ist der Meister der gnadenlosen Genauigkeit: Schleichend und von Ford raumgreifend vorbereitet, nahen die Katastrophen, unaufgeregt und unausweichlich steuert die Handlung auf einen Wendepunkt zu.
Insgesamt ist das ein stilles Drama und das Portrait einer haltlosen Gesellschaft im saturierten, kapitalistischen Amerika oder Westen allgemein. This was a lonely book about a lonely man who does and says things that you disagree with. Sadly many of these things you have either contemplated saying or doing or have already done yourself.
In contrast, Ford makes Bascombe into a caring and intuitive character who catches himself from saying something to spare a persons feelings only to ruin it by asking them to hop into bed moments later. Frank Basombe is one of the truest human beings i have found in literature.
The book mostly takes plac This was a lonely book about a lonely man who does and says things that you disagree with. The book mostly takes place over the course of three days.
KIRKUS REVIEW
The last day, Easter Sunday seems endless. Many things happen happen to poor Frank Bascombe that day, any one of which would probably ruin my day. Frank however soldiers on saying misplaced or inappropriate things. I am sure that some readers will find him to be a cad but I related and constantly felt sorry for him and his decisions.
We are told early on that, We should all know what is at the end of our ropes and how it feels to be there. I don't know that I am ready for a personal visit to the end of my rope let alone seeing how it feels to be there. I'll let Richard Ford handle that. Frank Bascombe will be a character that will stay with me especially when I realize that what I have said or done was foolish.
Correct year 1 7 Oct 21, The Sportswriter, by Richard Ford: Richard Ford, born February 16, in Jackson, Mississippi, is an American novelist and short story writer. Comparisons have been drawn between Ford's work and the Richard Ford, born February 16, in Jackson, Mississippi, is an American novelist and short story writer. Other books in the series. Frank Bascombe 4 books.
Books by Richard Ford. Trivia About The Sportswriter. Quotes from The Sportswriter. Just a moment while we sign you in to your Goodreads account. On the Southern L Final Impressions, Please hide Spoilers, April First Impressions, Please hide Spoilers, April Frank drives to Vicki's father's home for Easter dinner. Frank finds Vicki cold and unhappy. Frank believes she wants to end their relationship so he tries to keep her distracted so she cannot. Vicki tells Frank that she saw his ex-wife making out with Frank's personal physician, watching closely his reaction as she tells him this news.
Frank is upset by the news, unhappy with the idea of his wife with another man. Frank meets Vicki's father and brother. Frank hits it off with Vicki's father, but finds her brother moody and unfriendly. After dinner, Frank gets a phone call from his ex-wife and learns that Walter has committed suicide. Frank tells Vicki he must return home. Vicki walks him out to his car and tells him that she does not think they should see each other anymore.
Frank tries to force Vicki into his car so they can continue to discuss the situation. Vicki punches Frank in the mouth to force him to let her go. Frank gets the message and leaves. Frank goes to the police and receives a copy of the suicide note. Frank then goes to Walter's apartment with his ex-wife to explore the death scene. Frank becomes amorous toward his ex-wife, a situation that makes her angry. Frank then goes to the train station rather than return home.
When a woman Frank thinks might be Walter's sister approaches him, he jumps onto a train. Frank goes to his office in the city where he meets a young intern whom he takes to dinner. In Walter's suicide note, he asks Frank to find an illegitimate daughter in Florida and explain Walter's death to her. Frank goes to Florida and quickly learns that Walter lied. However, Frank finds peace in Florida and elects to stay.