Thoroughly disappointing completion of Ford's Bascombe Trilogy.

While "Sportswriter" and "Independence Day" are wonderfully imagined and executed, this novel smacks of a writer who agreed to a book deal he can't deliver on.

The story seems to lack the depth and coherence that were present in the previous installments.

The characters, once so vivid and relatable, now feel flat and uninteresting.

The plot meanders aimlessly, with no real direction or purpose.

And the ending is absolutely awful.

It feels rushed and forced, as if the author simply gave up and wanted to get it over with.

If you want to read a book that is the definition of how editing can crash a book, voila.

This is a prime example of a great writer falling short due to poor editing or a lack of commitment to the project.

It's truly a shame, as the Bascombe Trilogy had so much potential.

But unfortunately, this final installment fails to live up to the expectations set by the first two books.

Reading the Bascombe trilogy serves as a reminder of just how much incident other 'realist' authors, aside from Richard Ford, manage to pack into their books. The Lay of the Land takes place over a mere 48 hours or so, and so little of significance occurs (apart from a rather unexpected denouement) that I wouldn't fault other readers for feeling bored. I also wouldn't hold it against other readers if they found Bascombe to be a somewhat discomforting narrator in the present context, given the necessary focus on race, gender, and power. He is a white suburban American male in all the ways that Roth and Updike depicted them. And yet...I find these novels captivating. The worldview presented is oblique to my own; it is similar enough that I can find plenty of resonance, but different enough that it challenges me. Most importantly, the writing is clear and filled with insights. Books like these are precisely the reason why my favored novelistic genre is realism.

A novel about the trade of living, about the attempt to build a philosophy, a system that allows one to move forward while keeping together the pieces of the past and those of the present. It is a book that tells of a man who simply tries, in his own way, to "put things in order" (this seems to me the most accurate translation of the original title). Hemingway said that the hardest thing in the world is to write an absolutely honest prose about human beings. Well, with this novel Richard Ford has achieved it perfectly.

The story unfolds in a way that makes the reader deeply engaged. We follow the protagonist's journey as he grapples with the complexities of life, love, and loss. Ford's writing is细腻 and evocative, painting a vivid picture of the characters and their surroundings. The novel is not only a literary masterpiece but also a profound exploration of the human condition.

It makes us reflect on our own lives and the choices we make. Are we also trying to "put things in order" in our own way? Do we have a philosophy or system that guides us through life? These are the questions that this novel poses and that stay with us long after we have turned the last page.

I listened to the Audiobook.

After listening to CANADA, I was completely enthralled with John Ford, and that led me to listen to this one. It is, I believe, the final volume of THE SPORTSWRITER series.

Living in New Jersey, it was really interesting to read about a NJ realtor and his Tibetan sidekick. The story is truly intriguing. I could really feel a kinship with the protagonist and his struggles with his ex-wives as well as his children.

His experiences and the way he dealt with the challenges in his personal life made me empathize with him.

I'm also somewhat interested in the two other volumes, THE SPORTSWRITER and INDEPENDENCE DAY. I'm curious to see how the story developed in the earlier books and how it led up to this final installment.

I'm looking forward to exploring those volumes and delving deeper into the world of the protagonist and his complex life.

Overall, this audiobook has been a great listen and has piqued my interest in the entire series.

One of my dearest friends, Michael, fell sick approximately a year ago, just prior to our planned yearly Memorial Day visit. As he wasn't in good health, we decided to postpone the trip for a while and perhaps come up later in the summer. However, by that time, he had discovered that he had cancer and determined that it would be best to wait until after he had completed chemotherapy.

Michael endured chemotherapy and after some time received the prognosis. It was stated that if he underwent another round of chemo, he might have around two years left; if not, perhaps only about a year. This was around late March or early April, and we were still discussing the possibility of coming up for Memorial Day this year. Michael said he was tired but would probably be up for a visit, adding, "Let's wait a few weeks and see how I'm doing."

During March-April, I was reading a book in which the main character had just found out he had prostate cancer, had radioactive pellets inserted, and didn't yet know if they were effective. The book delved into his thoughts and feelings about his current situation, including many expected remarks on mortality. I repeatedly wanted to ask Michael if he had read the book, but I wasn't certain if I wanted to spend too much time on that topic. Our conversations were rather infrequent, and he seemed to prefer focusing on lighter issues. So, I mostly let him take the lead and disclose as much or as little as he desired about his cancer.

Two or three weeks after that conversation about potentially coming up, I received a call from Diana, Michael's ex. She was calling from Michael's phone, so I naturally assumed it was him. Instead, I received the news that Michael had passed away about a week before. Apparently, just after we talked, his condition deteriorated rapidly, and he was gone within a couple of weeks.

We traveled to his place on Vancouver Island for a memorial observation this past weekend. It was a very rushed and tiring trip, which we completed in just over 48 hours, but it's a trip I'll always be grateful we made.

While in his living room, I browsed his bookshelves, as I always had. Sure enough, there was the book I had been reading. His name was written on it, along with the date January 2010, around the time he first started feeling ill. I don't know if he ever read it, but I suspect he did. I deeply regret not bringing up the subject so that we could have had one last book-talk.

So, in addition to being a really good book, it now holds a special place in my heart due to this connection with Michael.

This was my very first encounter with a Richard Ford novel. Perhaps I ought to have begun from the commencement of this so-called "trilogy" in order to fully grasp it. (After all, I had no difficulties starting from the end with Roth's Zukerman in The Human Stain.) However, I simply could not make sense of Branscombe. To be quite honest, I found Ford's writing style to be rather soporific. It must be that I'm not overly sophisticated, as I just could not immerse myself or lose myself within the pages of this book. There seemed to be no cohesion whatsoever, nothing to compel me to keep reading. I'm presuming that a great many of the themes and character attitudes have been developed in the other books. For instance, the loss of Branscombe's son, his peculiar relationship with his other son, and his use of the term "negro" when referring to blacks. Certainly, cancer can drive a person inward, ultimately forcing one to confront one's own mortality and question one's life. But over 500 pages for, what, just three days of one's life? That seems a little excessive.

For what its worth...

In this third novel of the Frank Bascombe quartet, we encounter Frank in what he terms his “Permanent” phase. At 55 years old, Frank experiences a sense of estrangement from his son, while having a tentatively good relationship with his daughter. His ex-wife, now a widow in her second marriage, still makes occasional appearances in his life.

I find myself irresistibly fascinated by Frank’s life, though I’m not entirely sure why. I am equally captivated by Richard Ford’s writing. According to my eBook, this novel spans 697 pages. I推测 that if all the conversations were extracted from the novel, they might constitute one-fifth of it. The remaining portion of the time is spent inside Frank’s head – observing what he sees, following his thoughts as each conversation triggers an entire story filled with memories, associations, and descriptions of places and people.

This novel – indeed, this entire series thus far – is one of those that compels you to immerse yourself completely and live moment by moment in uncomfortably (at times) close proximity to the protagonist. So close that I couldn’t help but laugh at the things Frank found humorous; so poignant that I felt Frank’s experiences as if they were those of a very close (albeit somewhat disconcerting) friend.

Frank remains in the real estate business, and he now has a partner in his own firm: a man named Mike of eastern ancestry, a Buddhist who adopted an Irish last name. Despite his naivety, Mike is astonishingly clever and business-savvy.

I won’t delve into Frank’s love life as it would reveal a wealth of spoilers. However, I will say this: Frank, being Frank, is often consumed by and bewildered by his love life. He believes he knows what he wants and needs, yet when these desires are met, he never quite feels a sense of completeness within himself.

Frank’s life model could be said to adhere to the principle, “Question everything.” Because he does – and he takes the reader by the hand and makes you question everything as well.

Brilliantly written and highly entertaining, this series of novels has thus far provided a unique reading experience for me. In many respects, I even feel that I have gained a better understanding of the men in my family and my male friends by reading this novel. And – not surprisingly – it has also assisted me in getting to know my female friends better, too. Including myself.

Focalizing the gaze on three days of the year 2000, Richard Ford describes the state of affairs regarding his Frank Bascombe, who was already the protagonist of “Sportswriter” (the wonderful novel where I got to know Ford and Bascombe) and of “Independence Day”.

Fifty-five years old, a real estate agent, Frank has been left by his second wife (and the first one had left him at one time too): now he lives alone (his two children are grown up and have their own lives), accompanied by a newly diagnosed prostate cancer. He is the usual pragmatic Frank, not spending much time brooding over the causes of the things that happen to him: he takes note and adapts, as he has always done. But - here is the new element - he realizes that he has exceeded too much, and for too long, in removing the negative things that have involved him, and that he has to process them, instead, digest them. And so he starts a new, more mature phase for Frank Bascombe, that of acceptance: “with things, be they beautiful or bitter, one has to come to terms”, in the “awareness that one cannot escape life and that one has to face it in all its parts”. And indeed many things happen to him in three days: Frank Bascombe - also because he is good, even too good - stumbles, but finally finds a new balance.

I am happy about it (he is a friend, by now). “The State of Affairs”: a great novel!

This is the third book of a trilogy, with Frank Bascombe as the main character.

Perhaps I missed out by not reading the first books. However, somehow I don't really think so. If they were filled with endless sentences like in this one, I doubt I would have continued past the first book. It's strange because Ford is also renowned for his short stories.

After more than 100 pages, I ended up alternating between reading the physical book and listening to the audio version while pulling weeds and cooking dinner. That assisted me in getting through it.

Frank is a 55-year-old man with a real estate business on the New Jersey shore in the year 2000. He has prostate cancer, his second wife has left him, he has a poor relationship with his peculiar son, and he employs a former Tibetan monk named Mike Mahoney. The story spans three days leading up to Thanksgiving. He spends those days driving around, interacting with strange characters, and doing odd things while reflecting on his life and the world in general.

I would have given a lower rating, but when Tom and I were discussing what we were reading and I gave him a brief summary of this story, he was laughing out loud. He thought it was really humorous. I suppose I would have too if it weren't for those eye-glazing one-sentence paragraphs that took up half a page each.

As I delved into this extremely long novel that focused on just two days in the life of a 55-year-old man burdened with health and marital issues, what truly sustained my interest was not the story itself.

The story, much like our own everyday lives, was contorted and complex. However, it was the writing that truly shone.

Richard Ford's writing is masterful, making it seem effortless and yet luminous. His skill is truly awe-inspiring.

Nevertheless, I wouldn't recommend this novel to too many people.

The reason being that I'm not entirely sure how much my friends would be inclined to read musings on the later periods of one's life, dealing with chronic illness, the specter of death looming large, and the challenge of adapting to all these changes while also trying to navigate relationships with all the strange and confusing people we are expected to love.

It's a deep and often沉重的 exploration that might not be for everyone.

I like Richard Ford and Frank Bascombe and his trilogy.

Not much happens in the 736 pages spread over three consecutive days, but it tells everything and you don't want it to end (and also passes over everything, but obviously not at maximum speed).

I don't love the descriptions of houses that the character has to make as a real estate agent, but they work very well in the novel.

We see how Frank Bascombe thinks and identify with him, although sometimes not.

I don't know if the Permanent Period (absence of fear of the future, impossibility of vital failure, the past reduced as a whole to a pleasant pink blur) or the Next Level is brilliant or a stupidity, but they are concepts that try to explain certain stages of life.

In all the promises to love you and be \\"faithful to you forever\\" the harsh contingency (probable or not) is envisaged that: Unless, of course, I fall in love \\"forever\\" with another person. That's true even if we don't like it, which means that it's not cynical to think it, but it also means that the other -whom we love and prefer not to know- has the same possibilities of knowing it as we do. And knowing that we can finally be as close to absolute intimacy as possible. Getting closer than that to the absolute is death or something similar

I agree with his fragmented opinions although I doubt the certainties regarding friendships: Republicans are genetically disposed to trust the superficial nature of everyone, which is where most friendships prosper, while Democrats always get entangled with the deep meaning of any fucking thing, (yes, I read Spanish translations)experiencing doubts, regretting their actions and becoming angry, resentful and stubborn, which is how friendships wither

Reading Richard Ford/Frank Bascombe is to feel like a true resident, which gives tranquility and turns daily existence into a kind of hot bath that relaxes and from which one doesn't want to get out

Happy is the circus clown, a TV series, a greeting card. Life, however..., life is something harder. But also better. Much better. Seriously

**“The State of Affairs” by Richard Ford: A Thoughtful Exploration**

Life is all about what comes after, give yourself things to do and live it

In “Sportswriter” (set in 1986) during the Easter weekend, in “Independence Day” (set in 1998) on the 4th of July, and now in “The State of Affairs” (set in 2000) during Thanksgiving. 540 pages to tell about three days might seem excessive even if they were close to September 2, 1945. However, Ford fills them with memories, references, and meticulous descriptions, expanding the narrative with his usual sagacity. We proceed at a human pace during the frequent car rides. It's undeniable that in some parts, one feels like honking the horn, passing, or invading the emergency lane. Sometimes I seemed to hear the author's voice doubled by Santamaria saying to me (in Italian) -“It's useless for you to be impatient, you'll absorb a very American story. If you have to huff and puff, abandon the book because here I'll talk to you about characters, dynamics, dreams, and landscapes that couldn't be more American, and I'll do it my way, with the timings I consider appropriate.”
We are in November 2000, when we still didn't know who would become the president of the USA (Bush or Gore?), before the votes in Florida were recounted manually. Ford uses the baseball bat against the Republicans throughout the book. Regarding the disputed presidency, he makes a significant exception:
I have my thoughts turned towards a positive prognosis and a good start to the second year of this millennium, which includes a turn in the presidency of the country – a presidency that it's hard to imagine how we'll survive -, even if the new brain-damaged one is only slightly better than his clownish adversary, both being self-satisfied buffoons who wouldn't know how to run even a flower show for ladies, let alone our fragile and riotous union.

Hobsbawn claims that the 20th century began in 1914 with World War I. I dare say that the new millennium began in 2001 with the fall of the Twin Towers. It would be worth reading the novel just to see what the state of affairs was after the farce of the Millennium Bug, after eight years of Clinton's presidency (the suction couldn't have generated the proof). The 2000 described by Ford seems in every way a propaganda of the previous millennium (that one has been). As in the first two books of the saga, it is Frank Bascombe who narrates, in the first person. Frank, a former sports journalist, now works in the real estate sector in New Jersey. Through clients and collaborators, he shows us a multiethnic America, and he identifies its true essence in the community's ability to suppress diversity, discourage individualism, punish exuberance, and make sure that a good is for everyone. Don't you agree? Try to be understanding. Frank is fighting a tumor, and his second wife has left him to go back to her husband, who was believed to be dead for years but is as alive as Colonel Chabert. I read “Sportswriter” and thought my acquaintance with Frank Bascombe was over. Instead, as the months passed, the book, rather than fading away, settled. Reading Ford is as tiring as it is satisfying to have read him.

**Soundtrack**
Eagles - Take It Easy
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LfeNh...

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**The following are considerations that are indirectly related to the book**

Amazon was warning me that there were only a couple left available. It was no longer a matter of waiting uselessly for the e-book version. I risked not reading “The State of Affairs” except second-hand. It was October, and I ended my hesitation. The last paper book I had read was “Independence Day.” Also in that case, eight years hadn't been enough for the digital version to be realized. It arrived, and I put it on the shelf. I knew I had to wait until the days got longer. I'm used to reading everywhere, and backlighting is very useful to me. You book lovers, what do you do? I liked the cover (is it dawn or dusk?). The choice of associating the orange of the sky in the front with the orange of the fourth on the back was excellent (Davide Perfetti and Daniele Verri). However, the thickness discouraged me. I knew I wouldn't be able to take it with me, that I would have to read it only at home, on the sofa, when it gets light early and especially when it's not cold. I chose May, I chose the end of the lockdown. I got myself a black pen, and in the end, I made more than 100 underlinings. Among the notes taken on the phone, in a probable moment of discouragement, I wrote:
A short and engaging book, or rather a heavy and exasperating book, but only in parts, between Barberino and Roncobilaccio.
Frank Bascombe didn't manage to involve me as much as Harry Angstrom. He isn't as vulvacentric. Frank tries to control himself where Harry rages and reaches peaks of indecency that one would normally tend to be ashamed of even safely within one's four cerebral walls. The rich rabbit is a stream of consciousness with punctuation. Harry is the American Ulysses who doesn't move from his Ithaca (Brewer). I went to reopen “Independence Day” and found a (my) similar note:
The erotic tension that Updike can impart is special. His tension is as pleasant as a nice butt. That of Ford is a pair of sandals. Updike is a more refined erotomaniac than Miller. Eros is the fuel that feeds the rich rabbit, not certainly “Independence Day.”
**Dosage**:
One Simenon every three months. Ford, better no more than one a year (especially if in paper).