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3.5 AVERAGE
3.5 AVERAGE
Interesting book. One thing that separates my book opinions now and from the past is an interview I listened to with a professional reviewer. It's not about whether I like the book or whether it's my cup of tea. It's about what the author was trying to do, and whether they succeeded in that respect.
Lerner's book is dreamy, a cacophony of voices and speech represented in the story of one family. This book is more style than plot with astute social critique. It depicts a certain type of white male from Kansas and considers intersections of privilege and history. The point of view shift, and there's a sense of repetition in the characters, though they strive to be individuals, they are socially accessible and understood.
Several passages were genuinely thrilling - I enjoyed Jane's perspective, the character of Sima, and learning about debate. The part about The Men is worth reading on its own. Though the characters experienced emotionally devastating moments, I personally didn't enjoy that the convergence of themes and history sanitized their experiences. We heard the crisis, what led up to the crisis, and the fall out, but from such a far away view that it seemed tiny and small. And this is stylistic, showing the way everyone has these problems, and the way we support and hurt each other. But I felt cold and unfeeling, never in a perspective long enough to fall for the character. Lerner clearly wanted this to be taken as a whole, and as a whole, The Topeka School is unsettling.
I am unsettled, and as I try to understand this book, I think about various scenes that bother me in a way that will burrow into my consciousness. The last scene on the playground. The vignette in Taipei. The debates. It seems like it all must mean something, but it's hard to say. Maybe this is a type of spread - so much going on to think about, not linked in easily accessible ways, layers of influence and theme you can't discard, and somehow it fits into something or maybe nothing or maybe the end of everything.
I could easily say The Topeka School is a poignant articulation of how we got to where we are. I could also say the plot is plodding, the characters miserable, and that books and stories often have structure for a reason, not just based on it being some convention, and throwing out these elements of a story has consequences that pretty prose and style and ambiance aren't always able to erase.
Did I enjoy reading this book, is a question my younger self would have found most important. No. Did I learn something from this book, yes, though with some pain. Is there value to reading this book, yes there is value but if you can deal with the way the story is presented, otherwise I know of many people that would probably throw this book out the window, because there is something important in here.
Personal enjoyment rating would be a 2, but I'll give it a 3 because the author has fully realized his desire, it just might not be something that I personally also desire.
Lerner's book is dreamy, a cacophony of voices and speech represented in the story of one family. This book is more style than plot with astute social critique. It depicts a certain type of white male from Kansas and considers intersections of privilege and history. The point of view shift, and there's a sense of repetition in the characters, though they strive to be individuals, they are socially accessible and understood.
Several passages were genuinely thrilling - I enjoyed Jane's perspective, the character of Sima, and learning about debate. The part about The Men is worth reading on its own. Though the characters experienced emotionally devastating moments, I personally didn't enjoy that the convergence of themes and history sanitized their experiences. We heard the crisis, what led up to the crisis, and the fall out, but from such a far away view that it seemed tiny and small. And this is stylistic, showing the way everyone has these problems, and the way we support and hurt each other. But I felt cold and unfeeling, never in a perspective long enough to fall for the character. Lerner clearly wanted this to be taken as a whole, and as a whole, The Topeka School is unsettling.
I am unsettled, and as I try to understand this book, I think about various scenes that bother me in a way that will burrow into my consciousness. The last scene on the playground. The vignette in Taipei. The debates. It seems like it all must mean something, but it's hard to say. Maybe this is a type of spread - so much going on to think about, not linked in easily accessible ways, layers of influence and theme you can't discard, and somehow it fits into something or maybe nothing or maybe the end of everything.
I could easily say The Topeka School is a poignant articulation of how we got to where we are. I could also say the plot is plodding, the characters miserable, and that books and stories often have structure for a reason, not just based on it being some convention, and throwing out these elements of a story has consequences that pretty prose and style and ambiance aren't always able to erase.
Did I enjoy reading this book, is a question my younger self would have found most important. No. Did I learn something from this book, yes, though with some pain. Is there value to reading this book, yes there is value but if you can deal with the way the story is presented, otherwise I know of many people that would probably throw this book out the window, because there is something important in here.
Personal enjoyment rating would be a 2, but I'll give it a 3 because the author has fully realized his desire, it just might not be something that I personally also desire.
This is the 'Goldilocks' of Ben Lerner Novels. Just right.
I get the hype behind this book - it's ambitious and well-written. It's a very autobiographical exploration of toxic masculinity, interspersed with themes of language, family, and some good shots at the current administration. It just felt disjointed to me. Had I known as I was reading that the book was largely autobiographical, I think I would have felt differently, but as a work of fiction, it doesn't meld well. It also jumped in and out of stream-of-consciousness randomly, adding to the disjointed feeling. I can understand the importance of this book and its contribution to literature, it just wasn't my cup of tea. It could have been the obvious psychoanalytic bent around all of the psychologists that bugged me. Still, it was very well-written, and I can't take that away from the author.
I am now a Ben Lerner fan. This reminded me a lot of some of Dave Evers earlier work, but with it’s own feel. I loved hearing each persons versions of the stories. I know absolutely nothing about competitive debating, and it doesn’t seem like a very exciting topic, but Lerner has a way of making those parts of the book interesting. Like other reviewers have said, this seems like a semi-autobiographical novel. That’s probably why it remind me of early Eggers. Regardless, this is a great book that stands on it’s own.
challenging
dark
informative
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I realized around two hours into the audiobook that I was not following the narrative. I enjoyed the writing as I heard it, though, had a hold to wait for, and knew I likely wouldn't pick up a physical copy. I figured I had little to lose and was right. I don't know how to describe my feelings of being lost, but I do know that what I understood connected little to what I was expecting based on the description.
3 stars
tl;dr – Ben Lerner sure does love the sound of his own voice doesn’t he
-
One thing I’ll say for the author of The Topeka School – though I still can’t quite figure out how much of a positive it actually is – is that he really does know how to write an interesting sentence. They often run on quite a bit (a habit I’m unfortunately guilty of myself (sorry, I love a parenthesis)), but his command of language, evocative and articulative and peppered with a wealth of references, makes The Topeka School one of the most functionally well-written books I’ve read in a long time.
But – and it’s a big but! – all that being said, it’s not quite enough to save this book, and I’ll tell you why. I could probably write screeds on this, but basically, and so that I avoid sounding like Lerner himself, I’ll some it up by saying that The Topeka School is very pretentious. Now, if there’s one thing I dislike, its pretentiousness (although of course I’m sure that some would argue me writing these reviews is pretentious too (but that’s another story)). Yes, the way he writes is very interesting, but it also feels like Lerner is trying to bamboozle his reader by writing in such a unique way that we can’t properly engage with the story. It jumps between time, perspective, and place without ever properly anchoring anywhere, and the threads left hanging by that final chapter in particular make you wonder what half of the book was even about. Darren has all his little interludes, is built up to be this significant player, and then you’re telling me it all ends with a throwaway line about him joining the Westboro Baptist Church? What was the point, really? Sure, there’s definitely some worthwhile commentary somewhere in these pages on the crisis of white American toxic masculinity, if you have the time for it. But the essence of The Topeka School, while admirable from a technical level, just isn’t quite all there on an emotional one. Oh well, on to the next one!
tl;dr – Ben Lerner sure does love the sound of his own voice doesn’t he
-
One thing I’ll say for the author of The Topeka School – though I still can’t quite figure out how much of a positive it actually is – is that he really does know how to write an interesting sentence. They often run on quite a bit (a habit I’m unfortunately guilty of myself (sorry, I love a parenthesis)), but his command of language, evocative and articulative and peppered with a wealth of references, makes The Topeka School one of the most functionally well-written books I’ve read in a long time.
But – and it’s a big but! – all that being said, it’s not quite enough to save this book, and I’ll tell you why. I could probably write screeds on this, but basically, and so that I avoid sounding like Lerner himself, I’ll some it up by saying that The Topeka School is very pretentious. Now, if there’s one thing I dislike, its pretentiousness (although of course I’m sure that some would argue me writing these reviews is pretentious too (but that’s another story)). Yes, the way he writes is very interesting, but it also feels like Lerner is trying to bamboozle his reader by writing in such a unique way that we can’t properly engage with the story. It jumps between time, perspective, and place without ever properly anchoring anywhere, and the threads left hanging by that final chapter in particular make you wonder what half of the book was even about. Darren has all his little interludes, is built up to be this significant player, and then you’re telling me it all ends with a throwaway line about him joining the Westboro Baptist Church? What was the point, really? Sure, there’s definitely some worthwhile commentary somewhere in these pages on the crisis of white American toxic masculinity, if you have the time for it. But the essence of The Topeka School, while admirable from a technical level, just isn’t quite all there on an emotional one. Oh well, on to the next one!
I read this book a month or so ago, and I’ve been sitting on making a review while I’ve digested this book. I am a big fan of Ben Lerner. I liked 10:04, loved Leaving the Atocha Station, and adore his poetry. Needless to say, this has been one of my most anticipated reads of 2019. It was a bit of a letdown.
Lerner has created a new book in the vein of child genius literature, with inevitable comparison to Infinite Jest, Jakob van Gunten, and The Last Samurai (DeWitt’s Version, not the movie.) It really isn’t much like any of these aside from the general themes though, so don’t expect another Hal Incandenza. Adam Gordon (a younger iteration of the one in Atocha Station) is a Cool 90s Kid who listens to rap music and watches pornography on the family computer. He lacks the depth of his later incarnation and kind of sucks, less a developed character and more of a vehicle for academic achievement and other themes Lerner views pertinent for the novel. His father and mother are the more fleshed out characters, and recall various episodes of his childhood while developing their careers. If there is anything new and special that came out of this book, it is from their perspective, and it is probably this family dynamic that has everyone comparing it to IJ.
Having read virtually everything he has produced, I suspect Lerner is a bit of a one trick pony, or maybe he’s just continuing to write the same novel over and over again. Maybe this is his best iteration yet - it is certainly his most complete, and has a lot to offer. It is his first novel to be (mostly) removed from a city, offers more perspectives than simply a brooding narrator who may or may not be the author, and has many genuinely interesting parts to read.
In my review of 10:04, I wrote down that it seemed to imitate the same formula as Leaving the Atocha Station. Reminded of the Murakami Haruki bingo card I saw once, I’ve been trying to compile one for Lerner as well: alienation (free space), doing drugs in a museum, “unseasonably warm weather”, John Ashbery, The Challenger Explosion, the blurted line between fiction and autobiography, the failure of language, Brooklyn - I’m sure there is more, add your own
I’m happy to see Lerner pulling off more adventurous fiction - it just isn’t enough of a change for me, and he seems to be recycling ideas rather than surprising us with new ones. I wasn’t wholly convinced that the book successfully pulled off its objective, which most press coverage seems to suggest is “uncovering the roots of our white masculinity” or something. This becomes most apparent at the very end of the story. Without spoiling anything, he seems to tack on an extremely political thesis to footnote his book, and I just don’t think it makes any sense in the context of the rest of the story. Is it a brag? An apology? #Resist? I truly don’t understand what he was trying to prove - I’ve always felt that Adam was the masculine fantasy that Ben is projecting as an avatar into his fictional world - I’m skeptical that any debate champion/poet is getting laid in high school, and I would have been far more interested if he located himself in both the bully /and/ the bullied, but go off I guess.
3.5/5, rounded to 4 because I still really enjoy his work. Recommended to anyone who hasn’t read Lerner before - it’s a good entry point, but left me unsatisfied
Lerner has created a new book in the vein of child genius literature, with inevitable comparison to Infinite Jest, Jakob van Gunten, and The Last Samurai (DeWitt’s Version, not the movie.) It really isn’t much like any of these aside from the general themes though, so don’t expect another Hal Incandenza. Adam Gordon (a younger iteration of the one in Atocha Station) is a Cool 90s Kid who listens to rap music and watches pornography on the family computer. He lacks the depth of his later incarnation and kind of sucks, less a developed character and more of a vehicle for academic achievement and other themes Lerner views pertinent for the novel. His father and mother are the more fleshed out characters, and recall various episodes of his childhood while developing their careers. If there is anything new and special that came out of this book, it is from their perspective, and it is probably this family dynamic that has everyone comparing it to IJ.
Having read virtually everything he has produced, I suspect Lerner is a bit of a one trick pony, or maybe he’s just continuing to write the same novel over and over again. Maybe this is his best iteration yet - it is certainly his most complete, and has a lot to offer. It is his first novel to be (mostly) removed from a city, offers more perspectives than simply a brooding narrator who may or may not be the author, and has many genuinely interesting parts to read.
In my review of 10:04, I wrote down that it seemed to imitate the same formula as Leaving the Atocha Station. Reminded of the Murakami Haruki bingo card I saw once, I’ve been trying to compile one for Lerner as well: alienation (free space), doing drugs in a museum, “unseasonably warm weather”, John Ashbery, The Challenger Explosion, the blurted line between fiction and autobiography, the failure of language, Brooklyn - I’m sure there is more, add your own
I’m happy to see Lerner pulling off more adventurous fiction - it just isn’t enough of a change for me, and he seems to be recycling ideas rather than surprising us with new ones. I wasn’t wholly convinced that the book successfully pulled off its objective, which most press coverage seems to suggest is “uncovering the roots of our white masculinity” or something. This becomes most apparent at the very end of the story. Without spoiling anything, he seems to tack on an extremely political thesis to footnote his book, and I just don’t think it makes any sense in the context of the rest of the story. Is it a brag? An apology? #Resist? I truly don’t understand what he was trying to prove - I’ve always felt that Adam was the masculine fantasy that Ben is projecting as an avatar into his fictional world - I’m skeptical that any debate champion/poet is getting laid in high school, and I would have been far more interested if he located himself in both the bully /and/ the bullied, but go off I guess.
3.5/5, rounded to 4 because I still really enjoy his work. Recommended to anyone who hasn’t read Lerner before - it’s a good entry point, but left me unsatisfied
A LOT to unpack with this one. I knew essentially nothing about "The Topeka School" before buying it, except that I had heard good things. Whatever it was that I expected, it wasn't what I got.
This novel is intensely thought-provoking. I was constantly ruminating on the themes within the book, their representation of the world at large, and the characters (how I felt about them, who they were). I did so much thinking that I ended up reading the back half from a near sociological perspective. The story acted almost as a case study of (toxic; fragile) masculinity in modern America, and especially middle America, in the same way "Hillbilly Elegy" is a case study of poverty among the same demographic (white, middle Americans). The spurts of nearly abstract writing contributed to this, as it forced my attention (often forcing me to reread a passage) and very nearly transported me to the scene. This is much of the reason I'm giving the novel four stars - I appreciate the thoughtfulness it requires. I have a feeling this is one I'll reread multiple times, and discover something new every time.
I thought the writing was most interesting in Adam's sections. The narrative, however, was more compelling in Jane's than anyone else's. The use of "spread"-like prose added an element to Adam's narration that wasn't present in others'. I may have appreciated Jane's sections most because of her female perspective, which was very different from Adam's, Darren's, and Jonathan's. The emotional connection was the differentiating factor - I could most relate to her and place myself in her shoes best.
At first, I thought all of the young characters were abnormally abnormal. Then, as I got closer and closer to the conclusion, I realized that it was really just Adam and Darren that were outside of the portrayed norm. Adam, even before his concussion, is very odd and seems apart from his peers. Darren as well, although to a greater extent. Adam is able to hide his differentness better than Darren, and is thus accepted by Jason and Amber and everyone else, but fitting in is only a facade that he is adept at maintaining. From the very beginning, there is a symmetry between Adam and Darren's paths. They both use the magic plant in preschool to get special powers. They both feel, if, in Adam's case, only internally, separated from their classmates (Darren, because they outright ostracize him; Adam, because of his parents' status, his Jewish identity, his debate success, and his near death experience and subsequent health issues). They both struggle with living masculinity in the "right way." Lerner even uses some of the same distinct phrases when describing them/their circumstances (ex: "He passes no inn or public house, no one throws him a penny from a hay cart that he might stop for bread or beer."). In the end, however, their lives have two extremely different outcomes. Darren ends up protesting alongside the Phelpses and Westboro Baptist Church, engaged in dangerous right-wing political extremism. Adam is a successful poet in New York City, has two daughters, and protests inhumane immigration policy alongside his wife. Somewhere, their shared road forked. I think this fork has to do with how they were nurtured. Both grow up in the same city and attended the same schools, but Adam has a stable father figure to provide a healthy(ish) masculine example and Darren does not. While Jonathan has faults of his own, he is there for Adam. Darren's dad may have been a violent alcoholic, and died when Darren was a child - he has no healthy father figure to guide his development as a young man. Adam and Darren are examples of how children grow into men when exposed to traditional/toxic/fragile masculinity, both with and without positive examples.
Masculinity is the most prominent theme in this novel. It's influence is seen in Adam's debate tactics and the (often homophobic) bullying Darren is subjected to. Both are worried about appearing adequately masculine. Darren harbors fantasies about surviving in the wild as a way to prove his masculinity. Adam's worry deeply affects his relationship with debate. He thinks his talent with words and debate performances will make him appear less manly, so he diminishes this aspect of himself by deploying bullying tactics in competitions and engaging in 'rap battles' at parties; he even ignores policy debate for fear it would destroy the illusion "of his manliness" (134). Adam actively works to make a subjectively feminine characteristic more masculine in the eyes of his peers. The need for profound masculinity is ingrained in these characters and, by extension, middle America (all of America, really, but this novel is about the middle).
Favorite line: "How much easier it would be ... if there were a backmasked secret order, however dark, instead of rage at emptiness." (258) OR "We thought if we had a language for our feelings we might transcend them. More often we fed them." (172) OR "What underwrote the irony was a sense of the absurdity of having survived, or the absurd suggestion that anyone survives, even if they go on breathing, or the absurdity that language could be much more than noise after the coop, after the camps." (62)
Favorite phrase: "that banal but supernumerary sublime of exchangeability" (130)
4/5 stars - very thought-provoking and engaging material, but lacked a significant emotional pull
This novel is intensely thought-provoking. I was constantly ruminating on the themes within the book, their representation of the world at large, and the characters (how I felt about them, who they were). I did so much thinking that I ended up reading the back half from a near sociological perspective. The story acted almost as a case study of (toxic; fragile) masculinity in modern America, and especially middle America, in the same way "Hillbilly Elegy" is a case study of poverty among the same demographic (white, middle Americans). The spurts of nearly abstract writing contributed to this, as it forced my attention (often forcing me to reread a passage) and very nearly transported me to the scene. This is much of the reason I'm giving the novel four stars - I appreciate the thoughtfulness it requires. I have a feeling this is one I'll reread multiple times, and discover something new every time.
I thought the writing was most interesting in Adam's sections. The narrative, however, was more compelling in Jane's than anyone else's. The use of "spread"-like prose added an element to Adam's narration that wasn't present in others'. I may have appreciated Jane's sections most because of her female perspective, which was very different from Adam's, Darren's, and Jonathan's. The emotional connection was the differentiating factor - I could most relate to her and place myself in her shoes best.
At first, I thought all of the young characters were abnormally abnormal. Then, as I got closer and closer to the conclusion, I realized that it was really just Adam and Darren that were outside of the portrayed norm. Adam, even before his concussion, is very odd and seems apart from his peers. Darren as well, although to a greater extent. Adam is able to hide his differentness better than Darren, and is thus accepted by Jason and Amber and everyone else, but fitting in is only a facade that he is adept at maintaining. From the very beginning, there is a symmetry between Adam and Darren's paths. They both use the magic plant in preschool to get special powers. They both feel, if, in Adam's case, only internally, separated from their classmates (Darren, because they outright ostracize him; Adam, because of his parents' status, his Jewish identity, his debate success, and his near death experience and subsequent health issues). They both struggle with living masculinity in the "right way." Lerner even uses some of the same distinct phrases when describing them/their circumstances (ex: "He passes no inn or public house, no one throws him a penny from a hay cart that he might stop for bread or beer."). In the end, however, their lives have two extremely different outcomes. Darren ends up protesting alongside the Phelpses and Westboro Baptist Church, engaged in dangerous right-wing political extremism. Adam is a successful poet in New York City, has two daughters, and protests inhumane immigration policy alongside his wife. Somewhere, their shared road forked. I think this fork has to do with how they were nurtured. Both grow up in the same city and attended the same schools, but Adam has a stable father figure to provide a healthy(ish) masculine example and Darren does not. While Jonathan has faults of his own, he is there for Adam. Darren's dad may have been a violent alcoholic, and died when Darren was a child - he has no healthy father figure to guide his development as a young man. Adam and Darren are examples of how children grow into men when exposed to traditional/toxic/fragile masculinity, both with and without positive examples.
Masculinity is the most prominent theme in this novel. It's influence is seen in Adam's debate tactics and the (often homophobic) bullying Darren is subjected to. Both are worried about appearing adequately masculine. Darren harbors fantasies about surviving in the wild as a way to prove his masculinity. Adam's worry deeply affects his relationship with debate. He thinks his talent with words and debate performances will make him appear less manly, so he diminishes this aspect of himself by deploying bullying tactics in competitions and engaging in 'rap battles' at parties; he even ignores policy debate for fear it would destroy the illusion "of his manliness" (134). Adam actively works to make a subjectively feminine characteristic more masculine in the eyes of his peers. The need for profound masculinity is ingrained in these characters and, by extension, middle America (all of America, really, but this novel is about the middle).
Favorite line: "How much easier it would be ... if there were a backmasked secret order, however dark, instead of rage at emptiness." (258) OR "We thought if we had a language for our feelings we might transcend them. More often we fed them." (172) OR "What underwrote the irony was a sense of the absurdity of having survived, or the absurd suggestion that anyone survives, even if they go on breathing, or the absurdity that language could be much more than noise after the coop, after the camps." (62)
Favorite phrase: "that banal but supernumerary sublime of exchangeability" (130)
4/5 stars - very thought-provoking and engaging material, but lacked a significant emotional pull
The Topeka School was an uneven read for me. I enjoyed the sections about the forensics competitions and found much of Jane's narration very compelling. I found Jonathan's sections comparatively flat, but I understood how they fit and what they were doing there. These parts of the novel worked beautifully for me.
The story that took place in Adam's teenage years among his peers felt disconnected from the rest of the narrative, so much so that I wonder what it is even doing there. The incident with Darren is built up throughout the novel; it feels like it is meant to be central to the novel, but it did not come to life. Instead of this story being developed and built towards, it is teased and alluded to. When it happens, it is covered in a few paragraphs and the drama feels completely unearned, easily brushed aside. Amber, Jason, Megan, and even Darren are characters from this time period who are never developed.
I read an interview with the author from the Guardian (https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/nov/04/it-made-me-really-crazy-ben-lerner-on-confronting-male-rage-and-family-trauma) that I think explains why this is so:
I'm unsure what innovation Lerner is referring to here, but I disagree with his assessment that it was "good for the book." I would argue that the strategies he used to avoid representing adolescent speech also avoiding representing these characters in a meaningful way.
I wonder what this novel would have been like if he had gone for broke. I am sure this incident was disturbing when it, or something like it, happened in real life, but after the way it was built up throughout the novel, it fizzled on the page.
I don't wish to sound cavalier by arguing that someone should write about something that is personally painful to them for my entertainment, but perhaps what I can say is that I think Lerner should have either written it or not written it. The compromise/"innovation" that emerged worked about as well for me as the "tonsorial compromise" he described in the novel.
I think this novel would have benefitted if the events Lerner describes in the Guardian quote were left out entirely and other facets of the novel were expanded upon. There was certainly enough rich material in this novel that this could have been possible.
The story that took place in Adam's teenage years among his peers felt disconnected from the rest of the narrative, so much so that I wonder what it is even doing there. The incident with Darren is built up throughout the novel; it feels like it is meant to be central to the novel, but it did not come to life. Instead of this story being developed and built towards, it is teased and alluded to. When it happens, it is covered in a few paragraphs and the drama feels completely unearned, easily brushed aside. Amber, Jason, Megan, and even Darren are characters from this time period who are never developed.
I read an interview with the author from the Guardian (https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/nov/04/it-made-me-really-crazy-ben-lerner-on-confronting-male-rage-and-family-trauma) that I think explains why this is so:
"The book is written, he notes, 'in a way that basically avoided the representation of a lot of adolescent speech, because I couldn’t really show all the obscenities – racial, sexual, etc – that would exist in that environment ... It was interesting to try and write a book about weaponised speech but to have to figure out modes of indirection. In a way, that was good for the book, because it produced some innovation, but it also at certain moments felt like maybe I should have just gone for broke and written this much more disturbing version.'"
I'm unsure what innovation Lerner is referring to here, but I disagree with his assessment that it was "good for the book." I would argue that the strategies he used to avoid representing adolescent speech also avoiding representing these characters in a meaningful way.
I wonder what this novel would have been like if he had gone for broke. I am sure this incident was disturbing when it, or something like it, happened in real life, but after the way it was built up throughout the novel, it fizzled on the page.
I don't wish to sound cavalier by arguing that someone should write about something that is personally painful to them for my entertainment, but perhaps what I can say is that I think Lerner should have either written it or not written it. The compromise/"innovation" that emerged worked about as well for me as the "tonsorial compromise" he described in the novel.
I think this novel would have benefitted if the events Lerner describes in the Guardian quote were left out entirely and other facets of the novel were expanded upon. There was certainly enough rich material in this novel that this could have been possible.