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atmeans's review
5.0
This was a really quick and fun read. It was hilarious to read a book that takes place in Iowa City (while living and having gone to college in Iowa City). The scenes in the Foxhead and various other Iowa City establishments are dead on, and the characters "writers" who populate the page are each on their own funny little trip as they collide into each other for one crazy weekend. If you enjoy writers, or if you enjoy hating writers, here in Iowa City, this is definitely worth a read.
melissafirman's review
3.0
"Most people fail to recognize the moment they've touched the ceiling of their potential, that point at which they've reached the height of their intellectual prowess or the summit of their popularity. It can happen anywhere, at any point in their life - away at college during a study session the night before a final, or on a high school football field while catching the game winning touchdown. For some poor souls it happens as early as grade school, often inconspicuously: surrounded by friends on the blacktop on the first day back to school, or saying something funny in class that makes even the teacher smile. And then, after that, it's all downhill." (pg. 9)
So begins After the Workshop, a satirical and humorous (and often sad) look at the post-grad life of an Iowa Writers Workshop writer. (No matter that Jack Hercules Sheahan graduated a mere 12 years ago.) After publishing one short story ("The Self Adhesive Postage Stamp") in The New Yorker, Jack's novel-in-progress continues to collect dust while he works as a media escort for writers (mostly of the prima donna variety) visiting Iowa on their book tours.
Jack's encounters and interactions with these writers make up most of the action in this entertaining novel. (Many of them are well known, as McNally isn't afraid of name dropping in a good way. Others are fictitious - I think - which makes one wonder who they really are. As I said in my Sunday Salon post, After the Workshop is like the "You're So Vain" of the literary world.)
Any book that mentions BEA (Book Expo America) and blogs within the first chapter - and the former on the first page - is a book that you know is one that knows its stuff about the writing life. And McNally, who like his character Jack is also a graduate of the prestigious Iowa Writers Workshop and also once worked as a media escort to writers on their book tours, isn't afraid to give his reader a peek into this world that he knows very well. In doing so, he shows us that it isn't as esteemed and glamorous as we might have originally thought.
Amid the bumblings and stumblings of Jack Sheahan's somewhat depressing existance as a wannabe writer escorting less-talented types around town, the reader begins to understand the reasons behind Jack's self-doubt. Just like the frozen landscape of Iowa's prairie, Jack too remains frozen in time.
"We were drunks and crazies, pissers and moaners. But my longing was both deeper and darker than a yearning for barracks. It was a desire to live in a time that I couldn't possibly live in, a wish to meet people at a time in their lives that had already come and gone, a need to be part of history in a way I could no longer be. I suffered from what C.S. Lewis called sehnsucht, an inconsolable longing in my heart for I knew not what. Sometimes, the sehnsucht's grip was too strong, and it was all I could do not to curl up in bed and remain there for weeks on end." (pg. 222-223).
I mentioned in my Sunday Salon post that I was almost scared to review this one because McNally, through Jack Sheahan, appears to be familiar with book blogs. He (the character of Sheahan) refers to leaving comments on blogs early on in the book (as well as being involved in a hostile exchange of opinions on one), as well as offering commentary on who exactly (in Jack's mind) actually writes blogs.
"The younger writers - and even some not so young - maintained lengthy blogs about their writing lives. If a writer didn't have a blog, he or she was being blogged about, often viciously, usually by wannabe writers who wielded their blogs like swords. Part of the appeal of being a writer was the anonymity, but the Internet had pretty much ruined that. Almost always when I read blogs by young fiction writers whose work I admired, I ended up feeling embarrassed for the writer. Frequently, they revealed too much personal information, or they felt compelled to share all of their opinions. There appeared to be no filter between what popped up into their heads and what showed up on their blogs, and I wanted to beg them to reconsider being so public, but instead of dropping emails to them, I simply never read their books again." (pg. 233-234).
Yikes. I'm hoping that this is exclusively the view of Jack Hercules Sheahan, and not John McNally, but it's kind of hard to tell, isn't it?
Regardless, I don't think John McNally needs to worry about my review because after all, I'm a nobody and I liked his book. Granted, it's not the best book I've read all year, but it is entertaining and a fast and funny read, in the dark humor appeal kind of way that made me enjoy The Financial Lives of the Poets and Then We Came to the End. If anything, I thought perhaps there were too many characters in After the Workshop and that at times, the narrative wandered a bit into the campy and farsical arenas.
But you know what? Sometimes campy and farce isn't all bad. Sometimes it is exactly what we need.
So begins After the Workshop, a satirical and humorous (and often sad) look at the post-grad life of an Iowa Writers Workshop writer. (No matter that Jack Hercules Sheahan graduated a mere 12 years ago.) After publishing one short story ("The Self Adhesive Postage Stamp") in The New Yorker, Jack's novel-in-progress continues to collect dust while he works as a media escort for writers (mostly of the prima donna variety) visiting Iowa on their book tours.
Jack's encounters and interactions with these writers make up most of the action in this entertaining novel. (Many of them are well known, as McNally isn't afraid of name dropping in a good way. Others are fictitious - I think - which makes one wonder who they really are. As I said in my Sunday Salon post, After the Workshop is like the "You're So Vain" of the literary world.)
Any book that mentions BEA (Book Expo America) and blogs within the first chapter - and the former on the first page - is a book that you know is one that knows its stuff about the writing life. And McNally, who like his character Jack is also a graduate of the prestigious Iowa Writers Workshop and also once worked as a media escort to writers on their book tours, isn't afraid to give his reader a peek into this world that he knows very well. In doing so, he shows us that it isn't as esteemed and glamorous as we might have originally thought.
Amid the bumblings and stumblings of Jack Sheahan's somewhat depressing existance as a wannabe writer escorting less-talented types around town, the reader begins to understand the reasons behind Jack's self-doubt. Just like the frozen landscape of Iowa's prairie, Jack too remains frozen in time.
"We were drunks and crazies, pissers and moaners. But my longing was both deeper and darker than a yearning for barracks. It was a desire to live in a time that I couldn't possibly live in, a wish to meet people at a time in their lives that had already come and gone, a need to be part of history in a way I could no longer be. I suffered from what C.S. Lewis called sehnsucht, an inconsolable longing in my heart for I knew not what. Sometimes, the sehnsucht's grip was too strong, and it was all I could do not to curl up in bed and remain there for weeks on end." (pg. 222-223).
I mentioned in my Sunday Salon post that I was almost scared to review this one because McNally, through Jack Sheahan, appears to be familiar with book blogs. He (the character of Sheahan) refers to leaving comments on blogs early on in the book (as well as being involved in a hostile exchange of opinions on one), as well as offering commentary on who exactly (in Jack's mind) actually writes blogs.
"The younger writers - and even some not so young - maintained lengthy blogs about their writing lives. If a writer didn't have a blog, he or she was being blogged about, often viciously, usually by wannabe writers who wielded their blogs like swords. Part of the appeal of being a writer was the anonymity, but the Internet had pretty much ruined that. Almost always when I read blogs by young fiction writers whose work I admired, I ended up feeling embarrassed for the writer. Frequently, they revealed too much personal information, or they felt compelled to share all of their opinions. There appeared to be no filter between what popped up into their heads and what showed up on their blogs, and I wanted to beg them to reconsider being so public, but instead of dropping emails to them, I simply never read their books again." (pg. 233-234).
Yikes. I'm hoping that this is exclusively the view of Jack Hercules Sheahan, and not John McNally, but it's kind of hard to tell, isn't it?
Regardless, I don't think John McNally needs to worry about my review because after all, I'm a nobody and I liked his book. Granted, it's not the best book I've read all year, but it is entertaining and a fast and funny read, in the dark humor appeal kind of way that made me enjoy The Financial Lives of the Poets and Then We Came to the End. If anything, I thought perhaps there were too many characters in After the Workshop and that at times, the narrative wandered a bit into the campy and farsical arenas.
But you know what? Sometimes campy and farce isn't all bad. Sometimes it is exactly what we need.
rosseroo's review
4.0
Years ago, I stumbled across McNally's debut story collection, Troublemakers, and really enjoyed it. His followup novel, The Book of Ralph, was even better, and marked him as a writer who'll always be on my radar. Here, he revisits the territory of his last novel, America's Report Card. In that humorous satire, a somewhat hapless young man finishes his MFA at Iowa and then takes a crappy office job in order to make ends meet, only to become embroiled in a strange series of events. This story also features an Iowa MFA in a dead-end job, although here, Jack Sheahan is twelve years removed from that prestigious graduate program.
After initial success with a short story in The New Yorker and Best American Short Stories, Jack's writing career foundered on the shoals of an unfinished novel, which sits in a box under a pile of old phone books. Instead, he makes his living being paid by publishing companies to escort writers visiting Iowa City on their book tours. Now, I'm always rather suspicious of novels about writers and writing (and films about films), as they often come across as acts of desperation by authors stuck for ideas. But here, the story is contained in a concentrated burst, as Jack struggles to juggle two demanding clients over the course of a snowy weekend, along with repeated encounters with his ex and a mysterious reclusive novelist who emerges from hiding.
It's a kind of madcap romp with a heart of gold, poking fun at all manner of literary stereotypes, from the bossy type-A publicist, to the man's man blue-collar writer with a secret trust fund background. At the same time, it addresses the universal theme of whether or not we ever live up to our potential, and what that even means. The action is very well measured, and the comedy comes in at just the right moments throughout, in a way that felt very much like a well-structured film. In an odd way, the tone of it struck me as similar to one of Martin Scorcese's lesser-known masterpieces, After Hours. Hopefully this isn't damning with faint praise, but it's the kind of book I could easily see being made into a fun little indie film.
After initial success with a short story in The New Yorker and Best American Short Stories, Jack's writing career foundered on the shoals of an unfinished novel, which sits in a box under a pile of old phone books. Instead, he makes his living being paid by publishing companies to escort writers visiting Iowa City on their book tours. Now, I'm always rather suspicious of novels about writers and writing (and films about films), as they often come across as acts of desperation by authors stuck for ideas. But here, the story is contained in a concentrated burst, as Jack struggles to juggle two demanding clients over the course of a snowy weekend, along with repeated encounters with his ex and a mysterious reclusive novelist who emerges from hiding.
It's a kind of madcap romp with a heart of gold, poking fun at all manner of literary stereotypes, from the bossy type-A publicist, to the man's man blue-collar writer with a secret trust fund background. At the same time, it addresses the universal theme of whether or not we ever live up to our potential, and what that even means. The action is very well measured, and the comedy comes in at just the right moments throughout, in a way that felt very much like a well-structured film. In an odd way, the tone of it struck me as similar to one of Martin Scorcese's lesser-known masterpieces, After Hours. Hopefully this isn't damning with faint praise, but it's the kind of book I could easily see being made into a fun little indie film.
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