When I heard that the non-structured book group had chosen Old School for its October read, I decided it was time to pick up the book that one of its members, Frances of NonSuch Book, had kindly sent me. She didn’t tell me that it was such a beautiful book – I’m talking physical object here – goodness, how my heart leapt when I saw the deckled edges! (That’s a big deal on this side of the Atlantic – I wonder why UK publishers eschew them. Is it a cost thing?)
Anyway now that my heart rate has settled, let’s talk about the contents.
I would have loved the opportunity to attend the prep school that is the setting for many reasons. It’s in New England (one day I will go there, in Autumn, my favourite season) but more importantly the curriculum is designed to instill a love of literature and a desire to write. Every term a famous writer is invited as guest speaker and one pupil, the winner of a writing competition, is granted a private audience. With an opportunity to speak with literary luminaries such as Robert Frost, Ayn Rand and Ernest Hemingway, the competition is taken seriously.
We see that through the eyes of the adolescent narrator. As the prize of each author is announced, he reads and peruses on the works of that author. Not having read Robert Frost or Ayn Rand, I felt at a disadvantage. Nevertheless there were plenty of comments on the works of Hemingway and others that I could appreciate.
Yet the effect of all these stories was to make me feel not Caesar’s power, but his fear of Ovid. And why would Caesar fear Ovid, except for knowing that neither his divinity nor all his legions could protect him from a good line of poetry.
The narrator competes, or tries to. He grapples with writer’s block, and in one case, works himself into a fever in pursuit of his art. Finally a story flows naturally – interestingly it is his own and thus more honest than anything he has written before either in competition or even “his” novel. The fallout, however, changes his life forever.
This raises the following questions. How autobiographical should fiction be? Should one divorce the writing from the man? Indeed how autobiographical is this novel and do the considerations of the fictional author in any way reflect those of the real one? I am particularly intrigued by the feverish reading of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead and the less than complimentary depiction of the woman in person.
While literature forms the backbone of this novel, it is not the only theme. Adolescence, disaffection with one’s origins and one’s parents, a growing affection for the opposite sex, surrogate parental relationships between pupil and teacher, indeed between teacher and school are all interwoven into the narrative. So too the issues of class – the narrator is not from the privileged background of the other students. And he is Jewish, although he keeps that hidden (which I found quite surprising).
The simplicity of the narrative – clear, realistic and honest – belies the thematic complexity. It’ s not a difficult read at all yet there is quite a lot to ponder particularly on the subject of honour. For who exactly is the prodigal son? The pupil, the teacher, the author?
This was my first Tobias Wolff. I was impressed though not so convinced by the sections after the narrator has left the school. I felt a loss of impetus and focus though not enough to spoil the novel as a whole. Wolff is better known as a short story writer – I shall have to give those a try. Before or after The Fountainhead – now there’s a question. What do you think?
Other thoughts from the non-structured book group:
Feel terrible. You join us and we are all running behind because of Madame Bovary. (So easy to blame Emma for everything.) Think kindly of me and remember the deckled edges and not our lateness? 🙂 I will have my post up Monday morning. We will get it together and I will be back.
Do you know Wolff’s memoirs? They’re both magnificent. One (This Boy’s Life) is set before Old School and one (In Pharoah’s Army) is after, in Vietnam .
I’m writing as if Old School is the middle of his trilogy of memoirs, which it isn’t, except that it kind of is. i would guess that the experience of embracing then rejecting Ayn Rand is true, while the meeting with her is not, although that part is certainly accurate. As that kid asks, Who is John Galt?
Anyway, the memoirs are as good as his best short stories, and his best short stories are as good as anybody’s.
Interesting that you felt a loss of focus in the final chapters – I thought they were what really brought the book to the next level in that we pivot away from the exclusive viewpoint of the adolescent narrator, and come to understand the story from different points of view. The Susan Friedman chapter, in particular – I liked that infusion of down-to-earth quality, and how she mis-read the narrator’s actions as a great joke on Hemingway and the paternalistic school system, which was completely opposite to his intentions.
Personally, I’d check out more Wolff long before I’d revisit Rand…although I have to admit that I had a similarly short-lived infatuation with her in high school. 🙂
In addition to literature, I also saw strong themes of identity and isolation. Much as I would have loved to attend that school as well, it was also very conformist and traditionalist. I think after awhile, it would have driven me crazy. And I think that was a problem the narrator had too: being part Jewish and lacking class privilege, his environment hadn’t provided him with the tools to write his own story. So when he uncovered that story by Susan Friedman, it just overwhelmed him.
Definitely a great book and very readable.
Thanks for joining us on this read, Lizzy! I have to say, though, that I wasn’t enthralled with the book–liked Wolff’s prose overall but found the emotions lacking and/or unconvincing at times. More of the Susan Friedman character would have been great, but I have a feeling I won’t remember Old School for too long. It just didn’t grab me. Cheers! P.S. I live in New England, and Autumn is def. the best time of year to visit (mid-September to mid-October especially).
I seem to be repeating myself, but many refer to this as the “in-between memoir.” Not of any great importance whether that is true or not, but I did enjoy the book both times I read it. Wolff’s writing sounds just right in my head is the way I like to think of it. Have you read his short stories? I would highly recommend Our Story Begins if not.
The part about Ayn Rand was my favorite section of the book but I would not necessarily recommend picking up Rand’s work for a fuller view. The drama, theatricality there is comparable with the dramas of youth and self-importance that we see gently mocked in parts of Old School. Like Emily, I enjoyed when the novel widened out near the end to include adult perspective.
Thanks for joining in, and hopefully we will be a little more together next time you join in?
Late, late, late to the party but that’s why we stick to our “non-structured” concept, right? Here I am at last. 🙂
I too kind of want to read The Fountainhead now – although with a definite image of the author stuck forever in my head, which may lessen the chances of my considering it the greatest book ever written! 🙂 At first I too thought the book lost a bit of focus after he left school, but I ended up really, really liking the last couple of chapters.