65 pages in, and I have to say that my reading experience has been rather underwhelming. Particularly after having delved into Updike's Rabbit series, this work just doesn't seem to measure up. In the Rabbit series, Rabbit was a character who felt so vivid and real. I could envision him clearly, sense his emotions, and truly understand his motives. In fact, I even found myself sympathizing with him at times.

However, with this Bascombe guy, I just couldn't seem to form that connection. There is a distinct lack of engaging dialogue in this story, which makes it difficult to become invested in the characters or their fates. I found myself not really caring what happened to anyone.

Ultimately, this has become a Did Not Finish (DNF) for me. (Sorry Javier)

Soporífero.

It has cost me a great deal to finish it.

Absolutely nothing happens in this book.

It is merely a collection of dull reflections by a boring sports journalist on his uninteresting life.

The author seems to lack any real inspiration or creativity, and the result is a tedious and unengaging read.

There are no exciting plot twists or interesting characters to keep the reader's attention.

Instead, we are treated to a series of mundane observations and trite musings that offer little in the way of entertainment or enlightenment.

Overall, I would not recommend this book to anyone looking for an engaging and thought-provoking read.

I came across this book through the research of books about midlife existential crises. Having seen it mentioned in several lists, I ended up looking more into the author and the work. I realized that it was yet another saga about the American everyman, like Rabbit by Updike or Zuckerman by Roth. The protagonist, Frank Bascombe, has already had four volumes dedicated to him - “The Sportswriter” (1986), “Independence Day” (1995), “The Lay of the Land” (2006), “Let Me Be Frank With You” (2014) - by Richard Ford. Although they come out every 10 years like Updike's Rabbit, Bascombe starts in this first volume already at 38 years old, divorced, with 2 children, and a third who just died before reaching adolescence. In other words, he has all the conditions to embark on the questions of why and for what of everything we think, desire, achieve or do.

Ford writes very well, constructing sentences that convey ideas and feelings capable of involving us and keeping us fixed in every moment of what he relates. Sometimes he goes too far, gets lost, but almost always he maintains a high level of technique and control of the text, producing fluency and interest. The theme helps this type of writing, since although there is a plot, what is at stake is the interior of Bascombe, the way he sees the world, how he gives and receives that same world. In the same way, it helps the daydreams that don't always grip us and are lost in the lack of focus or object. However, the overall experience is quite good, due to the elevation created, but also for several moments of inquiry that work as soothers for those who are also in a mode of crisis and questioning of the journey.

Bascombe's world is the suburbs of America, so insistently the setting of a lot and a lot of cinema, that they almost seem to be part of our European reality. In them, everything seems perfect, created to make everyone happy, with all the conditions that industrialized and rich societies can offer. Still, none of this seems to be enough to soothe the human thirst for answers, even when the questions cannot be formulated. We fight every day to have more, to reach having as much as others, and when we get there, everything is put into question, why and for what. Was this all there was?

[image]
Cartoon of Liana Finck, in The New Yorker

I started reading the book in the original version. In the middle, I realized that a translation would come out by Porto Editora, which made me discover the existence of an old translation by Teorema. Since I was going through one of the less good parts, I decided to try the Portuguese version to see if it flowed better. After realizing that Porto Editora had chosen to put the dialogues with a hyphen, drastically changing the presentation of the running text with the dialogues in quotes, I opted to buy the one from Teorema. I also noticed that the Portuguese of the 1992 translation was closer to the English of 1986 than the translation of this year by Porto Editora. All this made me think again about the new Portuguese translations of the Classics. Will these updated translations be the same books that we read?

Finally, the title has little or nothing to do with the content of the book, as can be seen from what I have written. In the same way, I would have liked to give 4.5 stars. 5 seems excessive to me, and 4 is too little.

Published on VI: https://virtual-illusion.blogspot.com...

This description is rather unappealing and inappropriate. However, if we were to rewrite and expand it in a more neutral or perhaps even positive way, it could be something like this:

Some people might have the perception that reading is as uninteresting as looking at a piece of poop. But in reality, reading is a wonderful and enriching experience. It can transport us to different worlds, introduce us to new ideas and perspectives. When we open a book, we embark on a journey of discovery. We can learn about history, science, art, and so much more. Reading can also improve our vocabulary, enhance our creativity, and boost our cognitive abilities. It is a source of entertainment, relaxation, and inspiration. So, instead of dismissing reading as something unpleasant, we should embrace it and explore the vast treasures that it has to offer.

It's important to note that the original comparison was quite negative and not very nice, so this rewritten version tries to present a more positive view of reading.

Sometimes we don't become adults until we experience a great loss. It's as if life turns into a huge wave that takes everything away from us, swallowing it all. The first novel I read by Richard Ford was "Incendios," a short novel that reminded me of one of those American B-movies from the eighties. After that, I read "Rock Springs," a book of short stories (which is what he mainly writes) that gave me the same feeling. Each story seemed like a scene taken from those movies. I really liked both books.

"The Sportswriter" is a less cinematic novel. It's pure American literature, slow, paced, with a detailed narration and a story built with care and without haste. Frank Bascombe is a writer who gave up literature to pursue sports journalism, a profession he practices without much enthusiasm but with relative success. He is a character who lives in sloth and apathy since the death of his young son and subsequent divorce. A man, quite a gentleman, who is not yet 40 but is already anchored in a midlife crisis.

Nevertheless, I think it's a story of personal redemption and an introspective look at both himself and American society in the 1980s, always hoping for something better. A very representative phrase of the character is when he says, "Sometimes life isn't any great shakes, but it's not all bad, and you're glad to be alive, even if it's not exactly an ecstasy." It expresses that way of living without too much enthusiasm, making decisions without knowing why, living on autopilot until something snaps you out of your daydream.

Reading this novel has been a bit like looking at a painting by Edward Hopper. Both depict loneliness in a very similar way, each in its own way. Richard Ford seems to me to be one of the greatest exponents of contemporary American literature.

Kao što sam i rekao negde pre polovine, čista petica. Savršen roman. Čitao sam i da su mu urednici kazali da batali roman i da ga ostavi u nekoj fioci, ali je Ford istrajao i napisao nešto što bi se moglo porediti sa Karverom ili pre Čiverom.

The main character, Frank Baskomb, about whom Ford has written 3 more novels (which unfortunately haven't been translated in our country yet), is divorced, a father of two children, who evokes memories of his dead son and lives in relation to him. Here also appears Viki, a medical nurse with whom he travels to another city to see if they are meant for each other. There is his ex-wife, and there is also Selma, his colleague from the time of his professorship with whom he spent a semester in love in another city, far from his family.

What I saw for the first time, and by God I learned, is the unseen art of how the story suddenly moves into the past, without any barrier, and yet the flow of the novel is not disrupted at all. The climax I wrote about at the beginning is the visit to the family dinner at Viki's and getting to know her family, the powerful story with her father, the excellent allegory with the machine in the basement (I won't reveal it), and such a flight - in which you want to suddenly swallow the whole story, in one gulp, without chewing and enjoy the details. But, as it usually happens, suddenly everything collapses. His "friend" has committed suicide. Viki no longer recognizes him. She doesn't recognize the man with whom she was in love yesterday. She doesn't recognize him while he is talking to her father. On Good Friday, his friend killed himself. He, confused and completely broken, realizing that it's all over with Viki, leaves.

He tries to get in touch with anyone, naively seeking love, but is rejected by everyone he calls, even by his ex-wife. He flees the city, carried away by some mysterious moment at the train station, where an excellent reference to the film The Invisible Man is applied... That flight is as mysterious as the murder in Camus' The Stranger...

After that, a little comfort comes in the form of a young colleague. He gives up on one big interview because, as he says, it's not enough for an interview (and yet it is, just that it doesn't have enough oddities, and that interview is life in itself)... The ending is really good, and I would read the sequels.

What you will read is also this - why are sports journalists snobs and cynics? How do teams function? How does the creative process work? How to write a good article, or at least a biographical interview? You will get to know America better. And yes, you still won't understand women. You will understand why the sports spirit is so cruel. You will understand that men are the more tender sex.

One of those books that you finish more out of a commitment to yourself than because of the sensations that arise from reading.

I don't know the reason. Perhaps it's the aging of the work, the scarce empathy that I managed to develop with the character, the banality of the plot.

At least there are a couple of brilliant moments. Not much more.

This book, unfortunately, didn't quite live up to my expectations. It felt like a chore to get through at times, despite my determination to see it through to the end.

The story didn't grip me as tightly as I had hoped, and the characters seemed somewhat one-dimensional.

However, those few shining moments did offer a glimmer of hope and made me think that perhaps there was more to the book than met the eye.

Overall, it was an average read that left me with a bit of a mixed feeling.

Initially, I gave this review 2 stars.

That was probably on my first reading, way back in 2000 or 2001.

The reason was that Frank Bascombe really got under my skin.

However, since then, I've read each and every book in this series at least four times.

And although I still find Frank infuriating at times, I have come to love him deeply.

Richard Ford is truly a masterful writer.

His writing is not only funny but also highly engaging.

He is the creator of what I now clearly recognize as one of my absolute favorite characters in contemporary fiction.

Frank Bascombe has become such an integral part of my literary world, and I can't wait to see what further adventures and developments Ford has in store for him in future installments of this wonderful series.

The first remarkable aspect of this novel is Ford's consistent use of the present tense. It is truly astonishing that a 375-page novel, told in the first person, manages to cover only three days' worth of events. However, Bascombe's meandering narration is the allure of this work. He dissects every event that occurs over the weekend with psychoanalytical precision, never once acknowledging that he himself is deeply depressed. Instead, dreaminess is used as a substitute for depression, and Ford makes this condition highly believable.

Frank is largely absent from many of the happenings in the novel. He withdraws into himself and only interacts with characters based on what is left unsaid or undone. He believes he is straightforward and honest with others, when in reality, he is elusive and dishonest with himself. After the death of his son and separation from his wife (referred to only as "X"), he seems to yearn for profound connections.

He self-medicates with women. Eighty percent of the novel focuses on his relationships with women, whether it's his ex-wife, his current girlfriend Vicki, or his past relationships. In the final 15 pages, Frank appears to rebound from his relationship with Vicki and starts a new one with a woman twice his age. However, in the last section titled "The End," when the reader is taken a few months ahead after Easter weekend, he is skeptical about the long-term prospects of their relationship.

His relationships with men are dismal. He keeps them at a distance, even as he tries to convince himself that all he needs is some good male bonding. He fantasizes about fishing with Vicki's father and brother, but the divorced men's club he belongs to offers little comfort. Although he admits his lukewarm feelings towards the club, he still believes it's good for him and that he needs it. The only (arguably) real relationship he has with another man is with Walter, a pushy and depressed member of the divorced men's club who forces his friendship on Frank and eventually kills himself.

The most impressive part of this novel is the way Ford creates a thoroughly convincing and sympathetic narrator whom the reader trusts completely, yet who cannot admit or somehow fails to realize that he is not only depressed but also more or less okay with it. It's a paradox of reliability.

I relished his long-winded musings. Frank Bascombe's way of thinking is both utterly unique and as ordinary as home. Sometimes, his insights into such elusive feelings as whiffs of something familiar but unexplainable are right on the mark.

After spending countless hours delving into Frank Bascombe’s mind, I remain uncertain about how to perceive him.

This book is centered around an Easter weekend in his life. It commences with an annual visit to his son’s grave with his ex-wife, simply referred to as “X” throughout the novel, early on the morning of Good Friday. A plethora of events occur during that weekend, yet the majority of it focuses on Frank’s thoughts.

This is an incredibly introspective book. For a significant period, I relished the experience of uncovering the similarities and differences between Frank Bascombe’s thoughts and feelings and my own. I felt a sense of empathy towards his character and the numerous sad events he had endured. I took comfort in the knowledge that he had accomplished something remarkable: he penned a book of short stories that was picked up by a Producer in Hollywood, providing him and his then-wife with a great start when he was merely 24 or 25.

Amidst his ruminations, it is challenging to precisely determine when I started to notice some subtle disparities in his thought patterns. It is difficult to say when this began because for the most part, he completely avoids the first 20 or so years of his life.

When did Frank Bascombe begin to spend the majority of his life as a passive observer, with life and other people in the driver’s seat and their foot on the accelerator? When did he commence obfuscating many incidents in his life? When did he begin the process of projecting his own thoughts and desires onto others? When did he start to evade reality and distort it to suit his own purposes? Now that his 39th birthday is fast approaching, what is it that he is seeking, and does he possess the complete honesty essential for his contemplations to yield any worthwhile results?

Frank Bascombe is a complex web of contradictions. He professes to desire intimacy, yet he either flees from it or undermines intimate relationships, causing the other person to flee for self-preservation. He aspires to be regarded as helpful and kind, enraptured by the mysteries of life to the extent that he transforms everything into a mystery. At other times, when confronted with less ethereal mysteries, the harsh and gritty ones, he imposes his own interpretation on them, always slightly off-kilter, like a sailboat struggling to right itself on a stormy sea.

At the very conclusion of the novel, Frank Bascombe departs from his New Jersey home to spend time in Florida. He discovers family members there from the Bascombe side of his family, and that is where we leave him. For now.

Although I still don’t fully understand Frank Bascombe, Richard Ford's writing has piqued my curiosity, and I will read Part Two next month.

“Mi chiamo Frank Bascombe. Faccio il giornalista sportivo.” This is how the novel begins, straightforward and without any frills. After all, Frank Bascombe is a literalist. He lives by taking things at face value, as they appear, without glimpsing hidden meanings or delving deeper to try to understand them better. He believes that often, things simply don't have an explanation. “They just are” and “it's when you start trying to give explanations that we all get into trouble.” Bascombe rides the wave of events, which are changeable, without engaging in the construction of something solid. Inevitably, then, he gradually drifts, but he doesn't seem to suffer too much from it. He still continues to take what life reserves for him, applying one of the most important techniques for survival: that of keeping regret at bay. In short, he is a controversial character, but well-drawn by Richard Ford, a great writer. Frank Bascombe will return in “The Sportswriter” and “Independence Day.” He will be one to follow.

“Mi chiamo Frank Bascombe. Faccio il giornalista sportivo.”

Bascombe's approach to life is both simplistic and complex. On one hand, his literalism allows him to avoid overthinking and getting bogged down in unnecessary details. On the other hand, it also means that he may miss out on the deeper meanings and connections that could enrich his life. His tendency to drift and not commit to anything long-term could lead to a sense of aimlessness and dissatisfaction. However, his ability to keep regret at bay is a valuable skill that helps him to cope with the uncertainties of life. Overall, Frank Bascombe is a fascinating character whose story is worth following.

I have read it for the third time, and it just gets better and better.

Each time I go through this piece, I discover new details and subtleties that I missed before.

The author's writing style is engaging and captivating, drawing me in from the very beginning.

The story or the content, whatever it may be, has a certain charm that keeps me hooked.

It's as if with each reading, I am uncovering more layers of its beauty and depth.

I can't help but be impressed by how well it has been crafted.

It makes me eager to read it again and again, to fully soak in all that it has to offer.

Truly, this is a piece that gets better with each encounter.

I look forward to seeing what else I might discover in future readings.