He wrote one of the most powerful, memorable novels I have ever read—The Road, winner of the Pulitzer Prize in 2007—and now he’s dead. Cormac McCarthy, age 89. The Road is a simple story: a father and his young son traverse a post-Apocalyptic world in search of . . . what they are searching for is not explicitly stated. Safety. Humanity. Hope. The next breath. Like very few novels, The Road...
Within walking distance or a short bike ride from our place in Thunder Bay are a number of tennis courts. I pass by them and am reminded of another era, the 1970s when most of these courts were probably installed and tennis was booming on the global stage. The big stars back then were Bjorn Borg, Arthur Ashe, Jimmy Connors, John McEnroe, Billie Jean King, and Chris Everett. Bob Klein, serving big...
The pulp fiction writer Jim Thompson (The Grifters, The Getaway, A Hell of a Woman—and many more) said, “There is only one plot—things are not what they seem.” And to realize that truth about fiction, chances are you have to read to the end of a book. The ending is the most important part of any novel—because no one reads a book to find out what happens in the middle. I’ve been hearing from some...
Ah, Sunday morning. Do you ever get sucked into one of those existential moments? When you’re deep in the throes of contemplation about the nature of human existence—all its mystery, uncertainty, and complexity. Its pleasure and suffering. Its beauty and horror. And you’re compelled to evaluate your role as the architect of your brief and minuscule life? They can be a struggle, these existential...
It’s been ages since the four of us have gone out for dinner, but finally the stars align and we decide to go out to celebrate some family milestones. We choose a restaurant with a good reputation that we’ve been to before and that works for all of our tastes. Some of us have a cocktail, and we order two appetizers to share and four entrees. So far, so good, except Harriet’s cocktail, although...
Today I honor the two most influential mothers in my life: my own mother, Irene Klein, and my life partner and mother to Julia and Owen, Harriet Jaffe. Irene It’s been forty years since I’ve had a mother. I have only the same few memories of my mother, and many of them are foggy. I can form no new ones. And many memories are long forgotten. But I know this: I loved my mom deeply. I felt a strong...
The milkweed is coming up in our yard. We’ve never planted or cultivated it, but over the years it has appeared on its own and we appreciate every plant, even the ones that pop up in the middle of the lawn. Harriet taught me all about milkweed and how it’s the only plant where a monarch butterfly will lay its eggs. She’s an expert at finding the eggs. Some she raises until they hatch into...
If you haven’t had a chance to read my most recent novel, In Flight, you can get it here. There’s a brief scene in which our hero, Robert Besch, who survived a plane crash, fails to adequately explain his new outlook on life to his colleague, Dennis. But Dennis, who’s had his own near-death experience, thinks he understands what Robert might be going through and why things...
When I enter someone’s home for the first time I look for the bookshelves, and if I discover bookshelves full of books, I’ve found my conversation starter. If I don’t see any books or bookshelves, I’m disappointed, even concerned. I admittedly jump to conclusions about my host, although I shouldn’t be in such a rush to judgment. You can imagine my reaction when I read a New York Times article...
The first ten seconds Riding U.S. Route 41 North, about 30 miles into a 42-mile ride around Lake Skaneateles, we’re cresting a long and tiring climb, with a sweet downhill about to unfold before us. Steve is pulling away ahead of me. John bringing up the rear flank. I don’t know what I’m thinking about, just pedaling, breathing. It’s a two-lane highway, well-paved, with a wide shoulder. On...
I’m coming right out and saying it: The new rest areas on the New York State Thruway SUCK! I happened to stop in one of the newly opened rest areas on my way to Buffalo the other day. It felt ridiculously tight. There was only one double door at the entrance, and people were coming in and out and getting in each other’s way. The old rest areas had at least two sets of double doors. But I supposed...
This morning I’m standing at the starting line of the Helderberg-to-Hudson Half Marathon and asking myself the question I always do at the beginning of a race: What the hell am I doing here? I want to blame Harriet, who back in December said she was signing up to run a half and I should too. But I hadn’t run a race in ten years. I hadn’t run longer than five miles at a time. My toes are...
On this day in 1972, my father turned 45 years old. This was the year he’d been promoted to an executive position at the pharmaceutical company where he worked, and the year he moved his family of seven from a small and crowded house to a much larger house on a quiet avenue in North Buffalo. Was it also the year he began to suffer a midlife crisis? Or was he simply expressing himself? Like many...
The golden age of television is considered to be the 1950s, the era when the production of many new shows ramped up, and series like I Love Lucy, The Twilight Zone, and Leave it to Beaver ruled the tube. In reality, this is the golden age of television, if you add streaming to the mix. There are so many quality shows right now that people who don’t spend hours every day watching (that would be...
One of the benefits of living where I do is that the New York State Writer’s Institute is located here. Last night I got to see the acclaimed novelist Jennifer Egan, who won the Pulitzer Prize in 2010 for A Visit From the Good Squad (my review), and was here to talk about her most recent novel, The Candy House (my review). Goon Squad has a secure place on the list of “The Most Important Novels in...
