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3.46 AVERAGE
3.46 AVERAGE
I really enjoyed this novel, partly because it is set in Memphis and it is always neat (for me, at least) to read something that takes place somewhere that you have lived. Mostly, though, I enjoyed it because of the strong character at the center. Patchett has such a deft touch, and it was pretty gutsy for her to decide to write a novel from the perspective of this man, whose name we don't even hear until page 90. I read this in about 3 days because it is not too long and keeps you so invested in what is about to happen. No one is let completely off the hook, but no one is punished as harshly as they might be. I really appreciate Patchett's technical strength as a writer, and want to read the rest of her works almost more as study than as leisure. Which is not to say that I don't enjoy her style, because I do very much.
sad
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
This is the first of Patchett's books I've read in full. There were a few shining phrases and moments, but it felt as though the story did not build or develop completely.
Having read four of Ann Patchett's books now, I'm realizing that she takes her time to tell a story. Even in her best books, Bel Canto and State of Wonder, she doesn't rush any part of it. Sometimes that is a good quality, but when there isn't that much of a plot to begin with, and then it is also told at something of a leisurely pace, it makes for a forgettable read. But I still gave it three stars because I felt like it kept me engaged while read, even if afterwards I was just like, meh.
I am continuing to read Ann Patchett on the strength of her radio interviews and the beautiful things that she says about the writing process and the writer’s life. Her first novel The Patron Saint of Liars did not blow me away—she had a good story, some lovely themes, and a nifty idea for perspective—but I wasn’t left feeling moved or changed, which is what I expect when I finish a novel. I felt the same way when I put down Patchett’s second novel Taft, which is to say that I didn’t feel much. I want to like her books; I really, really, really want to like her books, because I adore her as an author, but beyond having good story ideas and interesting figures for characters, her novels lack the depth, complexity, or challenges of what I might term “good” literature. Ugh, I hate that Patchett’s fiction drives me to make distinctions like this. I consider a novel good if it makes me think and question myself and the world, if it forces me to see myself and the world differently, if the words are strung together beautifully, if it challenges me intellectually, if it sits with me for days and I have to talk to someone else about it rather than carrying the weight of what I’ve experienced, the new things I’ve thought and felt, around with me—I don’t have to “like” it, but I want to appreciate what it’s trying to do. Patchett’s novels are so far falling short.
Taft is the story of John Nickel, a black (yes, a white woman of privilege writing from the “I” perspective of a Southern black man—ambitious or stupid?) bar manager and former jazz drummer, and what happens when he takes in two white teenage lost souls, Fay and her drug-abusing, drug-dealing younger brother Carl. Their father, the titular Taft, is dead and they have moved from the poor, rural town of Coalfield to Memphis with their non-present mother to live with their well-off aunt and uncle. When the story opens John’s ex-girlfriend Marion has taken their son Franklin (yes, another president’s name) to Miami, seemingly out of maliciousness toward John. The reader learns that John was not thrilled when he learned of Marion’s pregnancy—refused to marry her, ran around with other women, and generally saw fatherhood as interfering with his go-as-you-please musician lifestyle. When Franklin was born, John softened and since then has been trying to atone for his initial reaction—asking Marion to marry him, still running around with other women, and giving up drumming for the “stability” of running a blues bar. The reader can see that John’s sympathy for Fay and Carl, his involvement in their troubles, goes beyond just simple kindness; he has embraced the role of father. If he cannot be father to Franklin, then we will play it out with Fay and Carl.
Refreshingly, this is a story about fatherhood. It’s actually a story about black fatherhood, which has been significantly documented (for its lack thereof) in American culture. One of the few thought-provoking, memorable moments in the novel describes the day spent between John and Franklin when Marion comes back from Miami for a visit. Muses John: “Boys with their fathers who don’t belong to their fathers, I can spot them anywhere. They’re taking tours of the pyramid, playing Putt-Putt golf at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. They’re filling up the zoo, carrying cotton candy and a bag of carmeled corn, balloons, and a thirty-five dollar stuffed yak from the gift shop. Custody day, I used to think to myself when I passed them. . . . It wasn’t until just that moment that I had feelings for every father who had tried to endear himself in the few hours he had, every father who wanted his kid to go home and tell his mother about how great the day had been. The kid’s life is screwed up and I’m the one who did it. That’s what us custody fathers think. If I can make it look like Disneyland for a while, then more power to me.” This passage is nicely written by Patchett, and presents a sentiment and perspective so often ignored in our focus (still) on the relationship between mother and child. I wish I could say that there were more moments like this, but the book just doesn’t stick with me. Like the Patron Saint of Liars, it feels like a writing workshop exercise. Write from a perspective that is the total opposite of you; frame a story in flashback. There’s ways in which the novel feels perfect, like the over-produced album, where you see the potential of the band, but want the raw stage show to really “feel” them, and there’s ways in which it is just messy. How do all of these things come together? The lives of poor rural Tennessee kids, imagined flashbacks of the selfless father Taft, an ex-jazz musician, a young black American teenager getting swept up in gang culture, a white kid descending into drugs, a single black mother, interracial relationships, etc. etc. etc? There’s a lot that Patchett covers, but not one thing very deeply—she sacrifices depth for suggestion. Ann Patchett’s novels are good, but not great.
Taft is the story of John Nickel, a black (yes, a white woman of privilege writing from the “I” perspective of a Southern black man—ambitious or stupid?) bar manager and former jazz drummer, and what happens when he takes in two white teenage lost souls, Fay and her drug-abusing, drug-dealing younger brother Carl. Their father, the titular Taft, is dead and they have moved from the poor, rural town of Coalfield to Memphis with their non-present mother to live with their well-off aunt and uncle. When the story opens John’s ex-girlfriend Marion has taken their son Franklin (yes, another president’s name) to Miami, seemingly out of maliciousness toward John. The reader learns that John was not thrilled when he learned of Marion’s pregnancy—refused to marry her, ran around with other women, and generally saw fatherhood as interfering with his go-as-you-please musician lifestyle. When Franklin was born, John softened and since then has been trying to atone for his initial reaction—asking Marion to marry him, still running around with other women, and giving up drumming for the “stability” of running a blues bar. The reader can see that John’s sympathy for Fay and Carl, his involvement in their troubles, goes beyond just simple kindness; he has embraced the role of father. If he cannot be father to Franklin, then we will play it out with Fay and Carl.
Refreshingly, this is a story about fatherhood. It’s actually a story about black fatherhood, which has been significantly documented (for its lack thereof) in American culture. One of the few thought-provoking, memorable moments in the novel describes the day spent between John and Franklin when Marion comes back from Miami for a visit. Muses John: “Boys with their fathers who don’t belong to their fathers, I can spot them anywhere. They’re taking tours of the pyramid, playing Putt-Putt golf at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. They’re filling up the zoo, carrying cotton candy and a bag of carmeled corn, balloons, and a thirty-five dollar stuffed yak from the gift shop. Custody day, I used to think to myself when I passed them. . . . It wasn’t until just that moment that I had feelings for every father who had tried to endear himself in the few hours he had, every father who wanted his kid to go home and tell his mother about how great the day had been. The kid’s life is screwed up and I’m the one who did it. That’s what us custody fathers think. If I can make it look like Disneyland for a while, then more power to me.” This passage is nicely written by Patchett, and presents a sentiment and perspective so often ignored in our focus (still) on the relationship between mother and child. I wish I could say that there were more moments like this, but the book just doesn’t stick with me. Like the Patron Saint of Liars, it feels like a writing workshop exercise. Write from a perspective that is the total opposite of you; frame a story in flashback. There’s ways in which the novel feels perfect, like the over-produced album, where you see the potential of the band, but want the raw stage show to really “feel” them, and there’s ways in which it is just messy. How do all of these things come together? The lives of poor rural Tennessee kids, imagined flashbacks of the selfless father Taft, an ex-jazz musician, a young black American teenager getting swept up in gang culture, a white kid descending into drugs, a single black mother, interracial relationships, etc. etc. etc? There’s a lot that Patchett covers, but not one thing very deeply—she sacrifices depth for suggestion. Ann Patchett’s novels are good, but not great.
emotional
mysterious
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Patchett writes characters who are emotionally complex and completely genuine. They are real people with complicated lives. Taft is no exception, as this novel is full of characters who tugged at my heart. The only difference between this novel and most of her others is that it was soooo sloooow. Sometimes less action makes room for character development but that isn't the case here. The changes of perspective and time were confusing, I didn't always realize we had switched from the present to the past. I also didn't quite understand the purpose of those flash backs.
Regardless, it's an interesting story and the Patchett's writing is skilled as always. This one just didn't pack much punch for me. I still recommend it for fans of her novels and readers of literary fiction.
Regardless, it's an interesting story and the Patchett's writing is skilled as always. This one just didn't pack much punch for me. I still recommend it for fans of her novels and readers of literary fiction.
Went into this with low expectations from the very mixed other GoodReads reviews, but it was actually better than I expected. There are some very unique plot elements that [a:Ann Patchett|2531|Ann Patchett|http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1201178831p2/2531.jpg] uses, I think largely successfully. My edition had an author interview at the end that I thought really enhanced the book - discussing her use of a main character very different from herself ("male, black, working class, and self-educated" as she describes him), the natural history of how the book was written, etc. Looking forward to reading her more critically successful works if this one is the "dud."
dark
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
A bit slow compared to other books by this author. The father-son relationship is a focus of the book as the Dad struggles to connect from a distance.
Not a bad book, I just didn't like the pacing or any of the characters very much.
Not a bad book, I just didn't like the pacing or any of the characters very much.
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character