A gift from a neighbor, I was intrigued to read this book.

I decided to base my decision on the review quotes on the back cover. Many of them heralded it as a 'tour de force' and said it 'achieves a real profundity'.

After reading it, I can say that it does indeed pay homage to the art of story. However, it also has some strong opinions.

One in particular stood out to me. The author, a fan of Ayn Rand's books and 'objectivism', the theme that drives both "Atlas Shrugged" and "The Fountainhead", makes her look like the anti-christ.

Regardless, this is a story focused on writers and the skill/pitfalls of writing. But in comparison to others I've read, this one pales.

Rather than belabor the subject, I'll beg off further insights or opinions for now.

Maybe others will have a different take on this book, but for me, it didn't quite live up to the hype.

For a short (less than 200 pages) novel, Tobias Wolff’s Old School manages to cover an extensive range of significant themes.

It does so within the constricting and often uncomfortable confines of an all-boys prep school. Set in the 1960s, during the Kennedy-Nixon presidential battle, the author only mentions this fact to allow a prized school competition to overshadow the important national political event.

The novel appears to progress pleasantly without a distinct plot emerging. However, astute readers will quickly pick up on the subtlest of hints that this work delves into religious and class prejudice, the inner workings of boys on the verge of manhood, and ultimately, truth and deception, even if it is accidental and without malicious intent.

An unnamed narrator tells the story, and the slow-burning, explosive climax is connected to an annual prestigious literary competition. The school invites literary giants to judge a writing contest, and the winner gets a one-on-one meeting with the said literary figure. The novel includes three such contests related to invitations to Robert Frost, Ayn Rand, and Ernest Hemingway.

Readers might be inclined to think that Wolff had a great deal of self-indulgent enjoyment in描绘 these competitions and the associated literary figures. For instance, there is some intellectual, cheeky comedy as Robert Frost is drawn into a debate about the value of rhyme. There is also a rather unflattering portrayal of Ayn Rand’s interview, where she comes across as condescending, impatient, and extremely vain. When asked to “name the single greatest work by an American author,” Rand unhesitatingly answers “The Fountainhead.” When asked for another, she promptly replies “Atlas Shrugged.” And when pushed to name another American author whose work she admires, she chooses Mickey Spillane!

The narrator, a budding writer himself, participates in all the competitions and is particularly eager to win when his idol Ernest Hemingway is the invited guest. However, in a somewhat surreal moment, his own competition entry is unconsciously inspired by another submission from five years ago. Seemingly innocent, this action directly leads to a devastating outcome for the narrator and indirectly causes an equally devastating and unexpected result for the dean of the school.

Wolff’s restrained and alluring writing gradually transitions into a psychological mode as these astonishing outcomes are revealed. Readers may justifiably take sides in the cases of the narrator and the dean. Old School is a brilliant and thought-provoking novel that perfectly captures the atmosphere of such a school in the 1960s. Wolff’s prose is rich and textured, yet astonishingly concise. Since Wolff is better known as a memoirist, this reviewer will be adding those works to his reading list.

An innovation in literature, besides being a coming-of-age novel. I have appreciated it in both aspects, even if perhaps I have felt the presence of the first one more clearly.

This work not only offers a unique perspective on literature but also delves deep into the process of a character's growth and development. The author's skillful use of language and vivid descriptions bring the story to life, making it a captivating read.

Whether one is interested in exploring new literary forms or simply enjoys a good story about self-discovery, this novel has something to offer. It challenges the reader's expectations and forces them to think about the nature of literature and the human experience.

In conclusion, this is a remarkable work that combines innovation and substance, making it a must-read for anyone with an interest in literature.

Star rating means little - this cut real deep.

In the world of reviews and evaluations, star ratings are often seen as a quick and easy way to gauge the quality or worth of something. However, in reality, star ratings can be quite misleading.

A single star rating may not fully capture the essence or complexity of a particular experience or product. It fails to convey the nuances, the details, and the emotions that come with it.

This cut real deep because it shows how superficial star ratings can be. They don't tell the whole story. There are times when a product or service may receive a high star rating, but upon closer inspection, it may not actually meet the expectations or needs of the user.

We should look beyond the star ratings and consider other factors such as personal experiences, recommendations from others, and a more in-depth analysis of the product or service. Only then can we truly understand its value and make an informed decision.

Star ratings may have their place, but they should not be the sole basis for our judgments. We need to dig deeper and see the real picture.

I read this book on the advice of Nick Hornby. After reading a collection of his articles written for the McSweeney's magazine "The Believer", which had been compiled into book form, I was rather disappointed with the Nick Hornby articles.

I think it was because of their cutesy, self-satisfied tone. Also, the way he kept faux-dissing "The Believer" as an overly fey literary mag while underscoring himself as a salt-of-the-earth regular guy was off-putting. Basically, the whole book seemed to be filled with obvious false modesty and self-serving admissions.

However, he kept praising "Old School" over and over, which was enough to make me check it out from the library and read it. I'm glad I did. I seem to have used up my review space insulting Nick Hornby, but let me say a few words about the book I was supposed to be discussing in the first place.

The writing is really wonderful. It is careful and detailed. Every sentence is put together not only to move the story forward but also to entertain the reader. Moreover, the author clearly knows his subject matter: New England boys' schools. Since I know nothing about this, it was interesting to get a sense of one.

Ok, I'm abandoning this review here because I can't seem to fully express exactly what I liked so much about this book. For now, I'll just say that it's worth your time and leave it at that.

The greatest mystery of the attractiveness of male groups for me is their competition. It doesn't matter if the topic of discussion is football or politics. They speak in a way as if they are all ready to enter the war to prove their views.

Now when you want to tell a story that takes place in a boys' high school and this time the competition is for better writing and, more than that, to get the attention of a favorite author, the subject becomes interesting. And Tobias Wolff has written very beautifully. In such a way that you can beautifully feel the excitement and eagerness to win in the school environment. I really liked this book.

It is interesting to note how the author manages to create a vivid picture of the competitive atmosphere among the boys. The details he provides make the story come alive and draw the reader in.

Overall, this is a great read that offers a unique perspective on male competition and the lengths they will go to in order to prove themselves.

This one was truly brilliant.

It really caught my attention and left a lasting impression.

However, I don't feel ready to write a full review right now.

There are still some aspects of it that I need to think on a bit more deeply.

I want to fully understand the nuances and the overall impact it had on me.

Maybe after some more reflection, I'll be able to put my thoughts into words and share a more comprehensive and meaningful review.

For now, I'll just let it simmer in my mind and see where my thoughts take me.

4.5*

This book initially opened rather slowly for me. I wasn't immediately seized by either the narrator or the situation presented. In fact, I was really hoping to like this book, especially since it is the Whatcom Reads Book of the Year. I mean, how picky could I be? It seems to be set in England, with references like "headmaster" and "forms" instead of "classes". However, I know very little about private schools in the US and only have a bit of knowledge about those in England.

So far, the one thing that I do like is the vocabulary. I absolutely love a book that now and then prompts me to reach for the dictionary!

I do find myself wondering how this book can have broad appeal considering the countless references to literature that I don't think would be read by many people other than English majors. Perhaps I'm underestimating the general public's knowledge. For making this assumption, I apologize.

This book doesn't compare to "Catcher in the Rye" in my opinion. Once I have completed it, I will give my rating and draw my conclusions.

I only finished this book because it is the "Whatcom Reads" selection for the year and was chosen by two different book clubs that I'm in.

The subtext issues related to being Jewish are never fully resolved. The time frame leap that occurs 80% through the book is rather disconcerting, and the loose ends seem to flutter about like birds in the wind.

Interestingly, many of my friends have really enjoyed this book a great deal. Such is the joy of having different opinions.

I truly relished this novel. Perhaps the main reason was that it vividly reminded me of my own reading adventures during high school. Falling in love with the works of Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Tom Robbins, Sandra Cisneros, and Flaubert had a profound impact on shaping my sense of self, or rather, my aspiration to have a particular kind of self. Just like Wolff's narrator, I had a short-lived love affair with Ayn Rand's Fountainhead, which came to an abrupt end when I attempted to read Atlas Shrugged.

It is a deceptively simple novel that accomplishes something rather audacious (yet still remarkably subtle - how is that even possible?) in terms of its point of view and structure towards the end.

I was especially touched by this passage:

"A more honest dust jacket would state that the author, after much floundering, entered college and toiled like the drones he had once scorned, maintained reasonable working hours, learned to be alone in a room, learned to discard things, and learned to persistently gnaw on the same bone until it cracked. It would disclose that the author lived more like a banker than an outlaw, and that his deepest joys were related to his family - listening to his wife sing as she worked in the garden, unzipping her dress after a party; seeing his most serious child laugh at something he said. The brief years of friendship with his father before his passing, never once allowing that his son had anything to be forgiven for."

...Read the book to discover the paragraphs that follow this one, which are equally outstanding...

I have an intense love for Tobias Wolff. Every single book and short story penned by him has been a source of great enjoyment for me. The world that he perceives is a place that is both tragic and beautiful. The characters he creates are vividly alive from the very beginning, bearing a striking resemblance to those in real life.

This particular book holds a special place among my favorites. It reads with such speed that it seems to fly by, yet it leaves you inundated with a plethora of thoughts and ideas. While many authors strive to show rather than tell, Wolff has managed to find a unique approach of asking rather than telling. As a result, I am now on a quest to find the answers.

I would not limit my recommendation to just this one book. Instead, I wholeheartedly recommend Tobias Wolff himself. Seek out his works wherever you can find them and embark on a literary journey that is bound to be both captivating and thought-provoking.

So, I truly yearned to dwell within the pages of this book. It is a poignant and bittersweet volume that delves into the realm of myth. The myth of innocence, and the myth of what it's like to attend a private school. A private, secluded high school, to be precise. As an avid literature aficionado, the school depicted in this novel is every bit as enchanting as Hogwarts. It features visits from literary greats like Hemingway, Ayn Rand, and Robert Frost, along with writing contests that offer the opportunity to actually interact with them. Imagine knowing that they would read something you had painstakingly written.

You know, this kind of school:




Most of us can only envision such schools based on the images we've gleaned from movies or novels. In fact, the snootiest high school in Indianapolis seems positively gritty in comparison. My own high school experience had nothing in common with what Tobias endured. It's similar to the myth we have of the \\"college experience\\": filled with partying, heavy drinking, adventures, and, of course, somehow managing to stay in school and complete a degree. You can act like Van Wilder all you want, but only for half a semester before you're back at your parents' house.

Wolff is acutely aware of how easily these myths can be shattered, yet he immerses us in a world that is completely divorced from anything most of us have ever experienced. Well, the environment is entirely different, but we may recognize some of the people: goofy boys (since it's a boys' school) behaving stupidly, energetically, self-absorbedly, and hornily. In other words, acting like typical high schoolers. Wolff captures the self-reflective attitude of the writer, which perhaps wasn't too much of a stretch. But he makes this young author as flighty and sexually frustrated as we all were at that age. Well, I was, anyway.

In other words, the characters felt real, and the setting made me envious of a mythical existence.

My high-school experience [Note: this is where I completely deviate from discussing the book and start indulging in self-reflection] was marked by homecoming football games, one of which was called off in the middle of the game due to a huge brawl in the audience. I was the aspiring author at my school, but we didn't have visiting authors. In sophomore year, I nervously asked my English teacher if she would read some of the poetry I had written and give me her honest opinion. I no longer have those poems, but I can recreate the mood and tone for you:

As darkness fills my withered heart,
I miss you every time we're apart.

I miss your lips, the way you smell,
it seems my whole world turns to hell.

When I'm alone, I miss you.

You get the idea. I wrote angsty teenage poetry filled with allusions to Greek myths and vampires. I often plagiarized lines directly from Nine Inch Nails.

I basically fancied myself as Brandon Lee from The Crow: jaded, heartbroken, and, of course, super-cool.



Never mind the fact that my heart wasn't broken by the tragic death of my true love, but by my first girlfriend breaking up with me simply because we had nothing in common other than our mutual horniness. Anyway.

I made the teacher endure page after page of this drivel, and when she finally finished reading it, she said, \\"This is TERRIFIC! You're so talented!\\" And then, she helped me get a few of them published in collections of high schooler poetry. You know, the kind where they print three poems per page and sell you the collection for an exorbitant price. The opus I spent countless evenings laboring over, called \\"Cassiopeia,\\" was on the same page as some buffoon's inane exercise called \\"Pizza.\\" The poem focused solely on how much the author loved eating pizza. Reading it, I felt a sense of deception and, well, a sudden urge for pizza.

So, perhaps the idea of innocence isn't entirely a myth. We do grow up with the belief that our uniqueness will be recognized and embraced by the world. We envision ourselves as famous poets, rock stars, actors, or ballerinas. But, eventually, we have to resort to plan B, and it's at this point that we start to see through the myth. We're not all here to save the world from Voldemort.

So, as I read this book, I longed to inhabit its fictional world. I craved that sense of inevitable success, that the world was eagerly awaiting to recognize my brilliance and shower me with wealth and fame. Because that's a feeling that has long since vanished.

Because life isn't a neatly packaged narrative like that. It's messy and disorganized, and there are billions of individuals all playing the role of the main character. Life is beautiful and remarkable, even if you attend a public school in the middle of nowhere, or if you can't afford to go to school at all, regardless of your financial situation. The myths we create for ourselves often omit the car accidents, the necessary part-time jobs, and the fact that love is always a more complicated and tumultuous affair than art makes it out to be. The myths we construct usually leave out all of the chaos.

But there's nothing wrong with chaos. It's the most natural state of affairs.

Imagine yourself as a young writer at a prestigious boarding school. A prominent faculty member has just read your contest submission. He is truly excited for you. “A marvelous story! Pure magic. No—no—not magic. Alchemy. The dross of self-consciousness transformed into the gold of self-knowledge.” This is pretty heady stuff, isn't it? Old School's protagonist was at an experiential high point when he heard that. The truth is, there are moments within the book where you could congratulate Wolff for the same achievement. More than once, I asked myself whether a passage was so good because of its insights or because of the way it was worded. The answer was typically both.

The story is set in the early 60's at a prep school for boys in New England. The narrator, who never reveals his name, is on scholarship there. It's an eccentric, bookish place where writers, not athletes, are the heroes (if you can imagine that). The school features a series of literary competitions, with the prize for each being one-on-one time with a notable figure recruited as judge. Robert Frost is the first judge. The old man passes on our boy's work in favor of one he misinterprets as having depth and irony that is, in truth, simple and earnest. (Think of Peter Sellers' character in Being There.) For the second competition, Ayn Rand is the judge. The narrator is seduced by her philosophy of self-interest to the point of obsession, reading The Fountainhead four times. Then he becomes deliriously ill. He's too sick to write an entry but thinks he can at least go to her talk. As she turns her disgusted face on him after he sneezes, he is quickly disillusioned. “She made me feel that to be sick was contemptible.”

The final competition is the big one. Hemingway, his hero, is the judge. The whole school feels a kinship to the man via stories of friendship with one of the teachers formed during the Great War. The drama really begins as the narrator thinks of what to write. And this is where I stop summarizing because I might give too much away if I don't. Let's just say that the truth can have good days and bad days. I'll also hint to you that class, privilege, and identity come into play, but it's all by the teaspoon, not the trowel-full.

People who would know have called this a thinly veiled memoir. This is a natural form for Wolff, who has a great reputation as a memoirist. All I know is the writing seemed exceptionally good. His short stories have always rated well, too. If associations are at all indicative, I'll mention a wiki factoid: He was on the faculty with Raymond Carver at Syracuse, and students who worked with Wolff while he was there included Jay McInerney, Tom Perrotta, George Saunders, and Alice Sebold.

This was close to a 5-star book for me, but I'm compelled to take one away because the main character's clash with himself seemed a wee bit contrived. Or maybe it was just inconsistent with the way I'd been viewing him. And since I'll have you believe I'm a paragon of virtue myself, high standards unmet get a demerit.