Valoración exacta: 4/10

The Sports Journalist is a novel that takes to the extreme the premise of 19th-century realism and naturalism: to represent as objectively and minutely as possible the reality of the world we live in.

There is a sentence, almost at the beginning, that can be considered a synthesis of what we will find throughout the entire novel: "In life, there is nothing transcendental. Things come and go, and that is the law of life." Looking back, it is like a warning: we should not expect to find any fact that goes beyond the normal and daily in its pages. As a premise, it can be interesting, but as we will see, it is quite complicated to put it into practice without the result being a boring and uninteresting one. Literature is not always a reflection of life, and to work, it usually needs emotions, surprises, twists, and situations that rarely occur in the real world. And I'm not just talking about happy endings. A protagonist who gives up in the face of adversity can be very realistic (who hasn't abandoned a dream at some point), but it is much less rich literarily than one who fights until the end, even if it ends tragically.

The story is very well written, and to carry it forward, Ford uses a series of rather original resources. For example, the narration in the present tense seems to me a very intelligent choice because it allows him to convey to us the feeling that we are discovering what is happening at the same time as the protagonist. And that is directly related to the premise of the novel: life is not something that happened; life is what is happening to us at every moment. We live in an eternal "now." Notice everything that a simple narrative decision can tell us.

In addition, the first-person narration is very rich, as it immerses us in the mind of the protagonist. His fears, his doubts, what annoys him; everything is narrated to us.

But the very construction of Frank Bascombe as a character is in itself a great success. On the one hand, there is a lot of pathetic in his actions and thoughts. But it is a very human pathetic, so to speak. Sometimes he says things he doesn't feel or think, just because it comes to him, or because the situation requires it; sometimes he makes irrational decisions, of which he soon regrets. Sometimes he is generous; other times, incomprehensibly selfish. He has all the complexity of a real human being, in short. He is divorced - but most of those around him are -; he maintains an amicable relationship with his ex-wife, whom he simply refers to as X, as if he wanted to strip her of any meaning or even humanity, outside of being his ex; he suffered the loss of one of his sons, whose trauma he still struggles to overcome; he has a younger girlfriend, towards whom he experiences complex feelings (sometimes he thinks he loves her, to the point of considering marriage, but at other times he doubts what he feels for her); he meets with other divorced people, whom he needs to some extent, but for whom he feels something quite similar to contempt...

But within his patheticness, Bascombe is not a loser, or at least he is not seen that way by those around him. Without being a celebrity, he is a rather well-known character for his journalistic work (and also for the success of a book he published in his youth), which leads many to see him with admiration or envy. Something that is also very real: how many times do we not envy the position or success of someone and wish for their life, without having the slightest idea of the hells that the same person must go through!

If until now everything was praise, why did I rate this novel so low? Simple. Because, despite its successes, The Sports Journalist seemed to me, during several passages - the vast majority, even - an extraordinarily boring story. The main reason for this is the lack of conflict. Except in the last hundred pages or so, nothing significant happens. It is simply the life of an ordinary man. Very faithful to the premise we read at the beginning: "In life, there is nothing transcendental." And in this novel, which seeks to be the most faithful reflection possible of life... neither! For a book that does not reach 400 pages, it seemed unbearably long and slow to me, and I must confess that several times I fell asleep with the book in my hands. There are page after page where it seems that nothing at all is happening. And, the truth is, despite being well written, it did not dazzle me either. It does not have the preciousness of a Saer, for example, who can write you a book that talks about nothingness itself, but does it with such beauty that you can do nothing but admire.

The end of the novel also has its sentence that defines it. "Life never has a convincing and natural end. Except one." Thus begins the final chapter; the beginning of the end. And it also warns us: do not expect a conclusive end to this story. There is no happy ending, nor a tragic one; there is no moral or teaching; unless they die, the characters will continue their journey. Some things will change, others will remain the same, but, like life, this book does not stop, it does not end.

This book is essentially a highly introspective narrative about an ordinary middle-aged man who is just as perplexed by the mysteries of life as almost anyone else in the world. The protagonist is Frank Bascombe. In recent years, his marriage has crumbled, his eldest son has passed away, and his career as a novelist has fizzled out. He is now a sportswriter and claims it to be his vocation. However, there is still something lacking in Frank's life, and he doesn't know what it is.

Throughout the novel, Frank contends with women, colleagues, and his own personal demons. By the conclusion of the novel, the reader can truly understand that Frank Bascombe is one of the most authentic characters ever conceived. I tend to believe that I am not even the same "type of guy" as Frank, yet I still found this book humorous and captivating. I also find Frank's struggle through life inspiring because he doesn't allow the obstacles of life to completely derail him from the battle.

About ten years ago, I had the opportunity to read the second book in this trilogy - Independence Day. The writer, Richard Ford, won a Pulitzer for this work, and I found his writing to be quite remarkable.

Recently, that memory resurfaced, and I decided to pick up the first book in the trilogy. However, I was left with a rather different impression.

Either Ford's writing style has changed significantly from one book to the other, or perhaps my own tastes have evolved. I'm not entirely sure which is the case. But this book didn't seem to possess the same charm and quality that I remembered from Independence Day.

The story follows Frank Bascombe over an Easter weekend as he drifts in and out of his own thoughts. He reflects on the death of his son a few years ago and his recent divorce from a woman simply known as X. Years earlier, he had a collection of stories published, but he abruptly gave up writing to become a sportswriter. This decision is brought up repeatedly throughout the novel, as it seems to be a source of regret for him.

For the entire length of the book, Frank appears to lack energy, enthusiasm, and verve. He has a new girlfriend, and there's a possibility that he might marry her. He meets her parents, but that's about as exciting as the plot gets. There isn't much else that happens in terms of a traditional storyline.

Perhaps the author's intention was to convey the idea that life is filled with regret, and one must either learn to move on or be consumed by it. However, I found myself struggling to understand the point. So much of the book seemed to blend together, and I eventually lost interest.

I suppose Frank was experiencing an early mid-life crisis, but he was so incredibly dull that I couldn't help but think it was his own doing. If one wants to have a fulfilling life, they should probably take some initiative, get involved, and show some care and concern for others. Instead, Frank seems to expect everyone to comfort him and breathe life into him at every moment.

Page after page, there was nothing but his own wobbly and self-absorbed introspective thoughts. It just didn't hold my attention.

By the way, I was quite taken aback by the use of the word "Negro" in the book. It was used by the main character five or six times to describe different characters, such as "The Negro boy" and "The Negro janitor." The story is set in 1986 New Jersey, not in the 1960s South. I kept hoping that the main character would say it to one of their faces so that I could witness him getting punched in the mouth. But unfortunately, that pleasure was denied to me.

Overall, this book didn't live up to my expectations. I'll probably pass on reading the rest of the trilogy.

Richard Ford's The Sportwriter is a profound exploration of a man's life. Frank Bascombe, who once published a book but then veered into sportswriting, is the central character. The story shows a week in his life, filled with the consequences of his choices. He is divorced, has lost a child, and his inappropriate relationship with his girlfriend ends. A friendship also takes a bad turn. We see his semester as a teacher and the complications that follow.

The book is not about action or adventure, but rather about the beauty of language, tone, and self-inspection. It makes us think about how we live our lives in the world. It is about our expectations of life and of ourselves. The quotes from the book add depth and insight. For example, "All we really want is to get to the point where the past can explain nothing about us and we can get on with life." This shows Frank's desire to move forward and not be defined by his past.

Overall, The Sportwriter is not a quick read, but it is very good stuff. It makes us think about our own lives and the choices we have made. It is a book that will stay with you long after you have finished reading it.

Richard Ford - image from The Paris Review

One of the absolute worst novels I have ever had the misfortune to read in my entire life.

The author, who writes about sports and seems to think that is a significant part of his identity (although we never actually see him engaged in any writing), goes through a truly absurd weekend.

His girlfriend dumps him for no apparent reason other than his blatant misogyny. He then proceeds to proposition intercourse to practically every woman he encounters.

To top it off, a person he knew dies, and then he simply decides to move to Florida.

The writing is unconvincing, repetitive, overly detailed, and just plain boring. It is excruciatingly bad, with phrases like "woogling in each others businesses" and "woggle the bejesus out of each other" used as synonyms for sex, and expressions like "I didn't care a mouse's fart."

This is the worst case of dicklit imaginable. I actually had to have a drink to celebrate finally finishing this abysmal piece of literature.

Most people who read my reviews are well aware that I hold John Updike's work in the highest regard. I have a soft spot for a good "mid-last-century man who misbehaves" tale penned by a literary deity. In fact, I can't seem to resist such stories for long periods.

So, it was only natural that I picked up Richard Ford's novel. Like Updike, he won the Pulitzer Prize. He also wrote about men who misbehave and said some rather fucked up things from time to time.

You might wonder, then, why the middling rating? Well, right from the start, I felt the presence of Updike's spectre looming large. Ford's protagonist finds solace in writing about sports, much like Rabbit's "good old days" when he played basketball. Both protagonists are unfaithful to their wives, have suffered the loss of a child, and experience the suburban malaise that has plagued Rabbit since the 1950s.

The themes and plots are so strikingly similar that I couldn't help but draw further comparisons. While I was sympathetic towards the flawed Rabbit and even found him relatable, I actively disliked Frank Bascombe. Rabbit knows he's a mess, but Frank seems to have everything figured out, making wise, declarative statements about life that made me roll my eyes. He's so unlikable! He ponders about "hundred dollar whores" countless times and refers to his former wife as just "X" for no apparent reason.

I know Rabbit also says some god-awful things, but I think the reason I'm more tolerant of his/Updike's obnoxious moments is because the writing is so extraordinary that I can't help but turn the next page and pick up the next book. Ford didn't have the same charm for me. I found his style overly introspective, to the point where all the navel gazing gave me a neck-ache. Little happens in this book that takes place over one Easter weekend, but you sure get to know every thought that crosses Frank Bascombe's mind. Also, the dialogue is surprisingly bad, with characters repeating each other's names in almost every line, which I found really distracting.

I won't even touch on the other strange things in this book that haven't aged well, such as the comments on race and homosexuality. Describing someone as "a bony African with an austere face, almost certain the kind to have a long, aboriginal penis" is just unacceptable, even in 1986! Maybe it's not Ford's fault at all. Many lovely readers I know and respect see a lot to appreciate in these pages. Perhaps it's more accurate to say that it's Updike's fault. He spoiled me for all other misbehaving men.

Frank Bascombe, a sportswriter, serves as the first-person narrator of this novel.

The story offers a skewed and at times brutally honest perspective on the flaws within a 20th-century American family, particularly those of the father and husband, Frank himself.

Early on, we learn that Frank is far from a happy individual, and most of us would concur that he has valid reasons. He is divorced yet still resides in the family's suburban home in New Jersey.

He has three children, one of whom, a son, has passed away. His aspirations of becoming a novelist have been abandoned, and he has instead turned to writing about sports for a national magazine.

To be honest, Frank isn't a particularly likable character. He's not a bad person; rather, he's the kind of guy you'd want to grab and shake, telling him to snap out of it. But alas, that never occurs.

So, what makes this a five-star book, regarded by many as one of the best of the 20th century? Quite simply, it's the writing.

Richard Ford does here what John Williams does in Stoner and what Philip Roth does in American Pastoral.

He transforms the ordinary, the everyday occurrences of life, into a work of art.

You may not like Frank Bascombe by the end, but you will come to know him, empathize with him, and perhaps even recognize aspects of yourself within him.

Ok.

I've always held the opinion that it's rather dumb when I pose the question to a man, "what are you thinking about?" and he responds with "nothing." I mean, how on earth can one think about absolutely nothing?

This particular book chronicles a man's thoughts throughout the course of Easter weekend. Honestly, I truly wish he would have simply said "nothing." Seriously. I had an intense dislike for the protagonist. His primary source of joy in life seems to be the anticipation of having sexual relations. Moreover, he obsessively refers to people as negroes. What in the world?

This book was published around the time I graduated from high school, and I can't recall ever hearing anyone use that term. And seriously, who really cares what color the bellboy is? There's no need to refer to him as "the negro bellboy." That was truly beyond my comprehension.

I read this book because one of my favorite authors had a great liking for it. Regrettably, I loathed it. I'm not entirely sure why I even bothered to finish it. I'm giving it two stars solely because the reader (audio) was really excellent.

As his ex-wife so aptly remarks, Frank Bascombe is truly a walking cliché. He is unapologetically self-involved, constantly preoccupied with his own thoughts and feelings to the exclusion of others. His hypocrisy is palpable, as he espouses one set of values while engaging in behavior that contradicts them.

Furthermore, he is somewhat racist, harboring prejudices that are both unjust and archaic. His womanizing ways are well-known, leaving a trail of broken hearts and disappointed women in his wake.

And to top it all off, he is just plain boring as hell. Reading about his exploits for 375 pages is like watching paint dry - a never-ending exercise in the most pathetic navel-gazing. It's as if he has nothing of real substance to offer the world, and yet he persists in believing that his every thought and action is worthy of attention.

In conclusion, Frank Bascombe is a character who leaves much to be desired. His flaws are numerous and his redeeming qualities are few. It's no wonder his ex-wife has such a low opinion of him.

I started this book years ago.

At that time, I had no idea how wonderful it would turn out to be.

Then recently, I was informed that I must have been living under a rock to have not read it.

And now, I can completely understand why.

This is a truly great book, beautifully written.

The author's words have the power to touch the deepest parts of our hearts.

It's very moving, and some of the scenes actually brought me to tears.

For example, when Frank's younger son tells him that he is sending a carrier pigeon to check on Ralph and report on the family,

it conveyed the depth of Frank's pain and sadness in just a couple of lines.

The simplicity and yet the profoundness of that moment are truly remarkable.

I am so excited to read Independence Day next.

I can't wait to see what other amazing stories and emotions it will bring to me.

I have a feeling that it will be just as good, if not better, than this one.

Frank Bascome might very well be the epitome of a man, or perhaps one who embodies the archetypal masculine traits.

He places a premium on actions rather than words, often projecting his own emotions and insecurities onto those around him.

Moreover, he is constantly in pursuit of the next stage or chapter of his life, without taking the time to pause and reflect on the previous one.

Surprisingly, however, he is not an unlikable character.

Ford's writing is so stark and beautiful, delving deep into themes such as love, loss, loneliness, work, and the never-ending search for happiness.

As I read, the pages seemed to turn by themselves, captivating me with their raw honesty and profound insights.

It is a testament to Ford's skill as a writer that he can create a character like Frank Bascome, who is both flawed and fascinating, and make us care about his journey.

Richard Ford is the master of unforgiving precision, and this book is both a pleasure and a challenge because of that.

It illustrates the opposite of economical storytelling as Ford depicts an Easter weekend of sports reporter Frank Bascombe, loosely following the motto: nothing is harder to bear than a series of holidays.

Virtually nothing that seems uninteresting is filtered out. Instead, we are part of almost every step, every real or supposed insignificant, hollow conversation, every waiting and bridging of downtime.

And precisely the moments that many other authors would pass over are Ford's particular strength. The dialogues with all their platitudes, with empty formulas, with the will to grasp something deeper or just to fend off the plunge into depth, Ford captures like no other.

In terms of content, it is about the tension between ordinariness and superficiality on the one hand and the search for meaning and the management of fate on the other. The main character, Frank Bascombe, represents middle age and absolute mediocrity - in whose security he seems to have fled.

He exchanges the promising start of a career as a novelist for the job of a sports reporter, which he can perform with inner detachment. As a living environment, he loves the faceless suburb where love is apparently his ideal of an uncommitted affair.

However, the death of his child and the subsequent breakdown of his marriage are thorns in the flesh of this untouchable superficiality and emptiness.

At the said Easter weekend, many things now go wrong. Stealthily and prepared by Ford on a large scale, the catastrophes approach, and the action steers calmly and inevitably towards a turning point.

Overall, this is a quiet drama and a portrait of a rootless society in saturated, capitalist America (or the West in general).

All this requires some patience from the reader, but it also held my attention over long stretches, entertained me well - and was definitely the perfect reading for me as a journalist of the same age as Bascombe - and then also over Easter.