How to Be Alone by Jonathan Franzen
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
Looking at the other views on here, I’m not quite alone in my feelings about Mr Franzen.
He’s obvious an intelligent author. I enjoyed much of his structure, as he starts with a conceit, an image, a displacement, an opening — wraps around it through history, thoughts, observations that twist back on themselves and then returns to that conceit with a gusto that shakes the room… armed with the negation of the displacement he starts with, he ends up closing that displacement with itself, completing essay.
THAT much, this structure, is good.
Good writing. But some of his values, some of his unwillingness to change… his young-old fashionedness… all of this bespeaks of alienation. The writer who wants to be alone. The literary minded intellectual who can’t fathom what people are doing these days. That much, is a bit off putting. For someone who thinks original thoughts, how can he also live so unoriginally?
The only thought I could come up with is that he simply lives his life out of habit. All of his ingenuity, creativity… it’s reserved for the page. It’s reserved for his writing.
I honestly have not read any of his stories. This is my introduction to him. While his research and internal thoughts are interesting, thoughts internal to the essays — and well worth considering — his final closing and opening thoughts aren’t interesting. The puzzles he poses are of interest, because we share a common world, but that’s all. His alienation matches my alienation.
To put it another way, I’d have a beer with him, drink a few drinks and share a chuckle. But that’s all. He’d get invited to the big party where I invite everyone. But I wouldn’t have him over for an intimate dinner party… except as a foil.
