Should I Relate to Richard Russo?

It strikes me that a reader's appreciation of literature is largely defined by his/her present experiences. There is a time and a place for each author's work, and each individual will relate to the work differently. On its surface this observation is mostly obvious. A child's enjoyment of Dr. Seuss is likely going to reach an early high, and then recede a bit as (s)he matures. Later in life, if that grown child has children of his/her own, (s)he will most likely have reason to re-engage the work with a new appreciation based upon sentimentality. Similarly, teen readers naturally gravitate to certain authors, and so do mature adults.

While the phenomena I'm talking about may seen self-evident, it's surprising how little it gets taken into account once a reader enters young adulthood. Differences between people seem to get more nuanced once they have grown. No longer will book recommendations be based mainly on age appropriateness. Other factors take on significant roles in the process of forming preferences. But that's not to say that age is no longer a concern at all.

Surely most lifelong readers can recall authors, that they used to count among their favorites, whom they feel they have grown beyond. There is a certain set of authors that my generation discovered as young adults that semed to have been formative to our development. Beat generation authors like Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs and Alan Ginsberg were a staple within my social circle. Many of us loved (and unfortunately tried to emulate) Charles Bukowski during our twenties. Poetry by Jim Carroll was also passed around frequently. The more sophisticated among us discovered Celine, Baudelaire, Fante and Rilke. Our slightly more conventional cohorts turned to Tom Robbins and Kurt Vonegut. While there is little reason why we should have had any less respect for these authors as we aged, we eventually got past them and on to other things. Much of that stuff would not be nearly so engaging if I discovered it now, as opposed to then.

Nowadays I find myself being drawn to the widest range of literature I have ever been exposed to. Yet my favorites tend to be authors who are (or were at the time of writing these particular works) roughly around my age. While I can enjoy the wisdom of the very old, or the dynamic energy of the young- I tend to relate better to those in the middle. But recently I have become alarmed at my preferences. Last year I discovered the literary edification of Richard Russo, a 58-year-old Pulitzer Prize-winning author. Russo's excellent works, which include protagonists struggling with the onset of middle age, include Nobody's Fool (1992) and Empire Falls (2001). After reading a couple of his books, it occurred to me to recommend Russo to my father, who has recently retired. It felt a bit strange to be suggesting an author based upon a perception that my father would relate to it- especially since I enjoyed the works so much.

Of course my father and I now share an interest in Russo's books. Recently my dad visited and dropped off a collection of Russo's short stories called, The Whore's Child (2002). His offering seems like a tacit acknowledgement that the difference in our ages has become less significant. While I'm not sure this brings me comfort, it does bring us closer. And it doesn't hurt that these are some damn fine stories.

The seven tales Russo included in this collection are strongly reminiscent of his longer works. In fact they could well be detached sections, removed to their current state directly from a series of unpublished novels. This may seem to be a fault to a short fiction purist, but not to someone with a full appreciation for a mature author who has fully articulated himself within a specific milieu. These characters are flawed men with hard-earned awareness and wisdom. They have bungled, or are in the process of bungling, their relationships. They have begun to face their mortality- not as an abstract idea, but rather as an inevitability attested to by surgical operations and behavioral restrictions. And while Russo fleshes out other types of characters, and shows his insight to be broader than we might have suspected, he shines most brightly when illuminating the inner lives of men in his very own position.