Ford has a remarkable affinity for vocabulary, much like David Foster Wallace, and an uncanny ability to transform the most ordinary of happenings into pages upon pages of profound substance, similar to Karl Ove Knausgård. This 454-page work meticulously deconstructs the memories and decisions of a 42-year-old New Jersey realtor over a span of just four days, from July 1 - 4, 1988. It's not that there is an abundance of events crammed into each of these days. Instead, the central thesis appears to be that we often forget how significantly our own unique collection of human interactions colors our perception of the world around us. Every adult is endowed with a distinct, yet hardly random, inner dialogue. In order to explain this coloring and the origins of the non-random slant of this particular suburban American male named Frank, Ford fills the pages with detailed descriptions and musings.

There are passages that vividly描绘 middle-aged dread and the process of coming to terms with the loss of a sense of place. There are also far too many dreadfully dull ruminations on one's "Existence Period" and some rather tragic thoughts regarding parenthood. My favorite characters were the unlikable Joe and Phyllis Markham, Frank's cantankerous and ever-changing home hunters with champagne tastes on a beer budget. I breezed through those pages with great interest. However, when it comes to Frank and his own precise inner dialogue... I would have been perfectly content knowing less about him. Perhaps Ford has proven his point:

  The truth is, however, we know little and can find out precious little more about others, even though we stand in their presence, hear their complaints, ride the roller coaster with them, sell them houses, consider the happiness of their children - only in a flash or a gasp or the slam of a car door to see them disappear and be gone forever. Perfect strangers.

A couple of interesting tidbits: Ford, who won a Pulitzer Prize for this book in 1996, spat on Colson Whitehead in 2002, the winner of a Pulitzer in 2017 and 2020, in response to a negative review. This was a rather unclassy move. Also, a Swedish acquaintance of Knausgård's raves about Ford in My Struggle: Book 2, which is where I first became aware of Ford:

  He liked talking about books he had enjoyed, the latest of which were by Richard Ford. “They’re fantastic,” he would say. “Have you read them? They’re about a real estate agent, an ordinary man, yes, and his life, so recognizable and normal. Ford captures the whole spirit of America! The American mood, the very pulse of the country!”

Pulitzer Prize winner in 1995.

And it must be said that the win might have been well-deserved. This is a beautiful novel about one weekend in the life of a relatively ordinary American man. Frank Bascombe is a former sports journalist, now a real estate agent, a divorced father of two, with a not-too-committed girlfriend and a share in a newsstand. And an interest in Ralph Waldo Emerson's thinking (which I of course admired as Emerson's friend).

Frank is going through an "existential phase", which manifests as a certain sense of being lost. And in a certain conflict between his higher aspirations and ordinary life. But it must be emphasized that this is not some kind of French-style angst but just ordinary middle-class life. The clients are difficult, the dating partner is not entirely sure about things, and the son gets stuck with a detention. Some things may eat away at this ordinariness a little, but on the other hand, they also seem somewhat special in the context of the novel.

I really admired a lot how this depicts working life and even a profession like real estate. All too rarely are ordinary, non-artistic jobs portrayed in novels. Well done, Ford!

In addition, the supporting characters and their interactions with Frank should be praised. Especially the father-son journey in the book contains really wonderful dialogue. And it was also semi-moving.

There is also a bit of criticism of Tamme in that this is the second part of a five-part series. And of course only parts two and three have been translated. One could surely have gotten even more out of it if one had read the first part, which describes Frank's marital crisis and career as a sports journalist.

Even without the previous context, this was a beautiful, slow enough meditation on life on the East Coast and middle age.

Seconda puntata della trilogia che inizia con "Sportswriter" e finisce con "Lo stato delle cose", "Il giorno dell'Indipendenza" è un romanzo notevole - con giusto un po' di prolissità discutibile.

A ridosso della Festa dell’Indipendenza, Frank Bascombe, a metà età, agente immobiliare, divorziato, con un figlio morto e altri due che vivono con la madre lontani, passa quattro giorni. In questo breve periodo, parte del tempo lo trascorre con Sally, il nuovo amore forse. E il resto, necessariamente e doverosamente, con Paul, il complicato figlio quindicenne che ha bisogno di aiuto. Tuttavia, Frank trova qualche momento anche per altri. È un buono di natura, un generoso, e riesce a adattarsi molto alle situazioni più varie. Come dice lui stesso: "Non è vero che ci si possa abituare a tutto, ma ci si può abituare a molto più di quanto si creda, e può arrivare persino a piacere". Questa adattabilità deriva dal suo relativismo e dalla disposizione a vedere le cose da varie prospettive. Egli stesso ammette: "Il mio più grande difetto e la mia più grande forza, come essere umano, è che sono sempre in grado di immaginare qualsiasi cosa - un matrimonio, una conversazione, un governo - differente da com’è, una caratteristica che potrebbe rendere una persona un avvocato, un romanziere o un agente immobiliare di prim’ordine, ma che sembra produrre un essere umano un po’ meno affidabile e moralmente credibile". Tutto questo porta ovviamente a instabilità. Talvolta Frank Bascombe sogna di "occupare un punto fermo invece di essere in trasformazione". Forse il punto fermo lo troverà con Sally... ma questo lo si saprà solo nell'ultimo romanzo della trilogia, "Lo stato delle cose", che ho letto - sovvertendo la cronologia - e che reputo di livello ancora superiore.

Frank Bascombe 2.0

"When one is young, one's adversary is the future; but when one is no longer young, one's adversary is the past and everything that one has done in the past, and the problem is to manage to escape from it." This profound statement by Frank Bascombe 2.0 holds great significance. It reflects the changing nature of our challenges as we progress through life. In youth, we are often filled with anticipation and uncertainty about what lies ahead. The future seems like a vast unknown, full of potential opportunities and threats. As we age, however, our focus may shift to the past. We may find ourselves haunted by regrets, mistakes, or missed opportunities. The past can become a burden, weighing us down and preventing us from moving forward. To overcome this, we must learn to let go of the past and embrace the present. We need to find ways to forgive ourselves for our mistakes and use our past experiences as a source of growth and learning. Only then can we hope to escape the clutches of the past and create a better future for ourselves.

4 1/2 stars.

Ford is an extremely readable author. His understanding and portrayal of the human condition are truly excellent. He has a remarkable ability to delve deep into the hearts and minds of his characters, presenting their joys, sorrows, and insecurities in a way that is both relatable and engaging.

However, after reading several of his works that focus on middle-aged male angst, I find myself in need of a break. While this theme can be interesting and thought-provoking, it can also become a bit overwhelming after a while. I渴望 to explore other aspects of the human experience, perhaps stories that are more lighthearted or that deal with different age groups or genders.

Nonetheless, I still highly recommend Ford's books to those who enjoy well-written literature that explores the complexities of the human condition. His talent as a writer is undeniable, and I look forward to seeing what he comes up with next.

It seems that no matter what era it is, people will always have dissatisfaction, whether it is with themselves or their lives in general. This is precisely the case of Frank Bascombe in Independence Day by Richard Ford. After much musing (oh, so many musings) in The Sportswriter, Frank returns with much of the same, yet different, this time around.

It's the July Fourth weekend of 1988, and Frank Bascombe has been divorced for seven years. He is no longer a sportswriter; instead, he has become a relator. He stumbled upon this profession after his divorce and entered what he calls the Existence Period, simply being true to his independent self. During a bit of an existential crisis, he found that real estate perfectly suited his mood.

On this particular weekend, he shows the 45th house to an indecisive and inflexible couple from Vermont, attempts to collect rent from a temperamental and disgruntled tenant, visits his root beer and hotdog stand, has a (dis)connection with a woman he's been seeing, travels to Connecticut to pick up his son, who has been dealing with some troublesome issues and lives there with his mother and new husband, and takes him on a small road trip with the ultimate destination being the Baseball Hall of Fame.

During this weekend, a great deal occurs, yet at the same time, not much actually happens. Frank ruminates extensively about life in general and his general state of being happy/not happy and stuck (also known as the Existence Period). However, Frank is not easy to be around, and his ruminations can wear on others after a while (yet he firmly believes in himself). Is this a dissection of the current (both then and now) American malaise, or just mere bloviating? Independence Day is America's holiday. But as Frank Bascombe discovers, being independent in his way is not all that it's cracked up to be.

In the early 1990s, when I had the job of being an author's escort, I was honored to take Richard Ford to the Tattered Cover in Denver. At that time, I had never even heard of him, and his book was "Independence Day". He was a charming gentleman from Mississippi. Before we went into the reading, he said, "I don't know if anyone will show up."

However, when we entered the room, it was completely packed with people. And as Ford read from his book for about ten minutes, I said to myself, "This author is going to receive the Pulitzer Prize for Literature." And indeed, he did!

The story of "Independence Day" cuts right to the heart of contemporary America. It's about a divorced Realtor and his son getting together on July 4th. The writing is so captivating that it entrances you and takes you away. Richard Ford is truly one of the best writers we have today. Not only is his writing outstanding, but he is also a charming person. "Independence Day" is definitely one of his best works.

**Bascombe, Run**

For six years, I waited for the digitalization of “The Independence Day” in Italian, and then I gave up. After twelve pages,

The way we miss life is life itself

Frank Bascombe, who was a sports journalist (in the prequel Sportswriter), has become a real estate agent. He has changed his profession but not his writing style. With him, it works like this: vegetate for ten pages, and then read

The worst thing about being a parent is then my destiny: to be an adult. Not to have the right language, not to fear the same eventualities […] the destiny of knowing a lot and yet having to stand like a lamppost with the light on, hoping that my son will see its glow.

and you ask yourself: but what was I reading until now?

Richard Ford has no children, I discovered this in “Between Us” where he tells the story of his parents. And yet this book is centered on the relationship between Frank and his son Paul in the days before Independence Day (July 4th, a national holiday in the USA). Paul is a self-destructive adolescent who has suffered from the separation of his parents and does not have a good relationship with his stepfather. In July, he will have to stand trial for theft. Frank, in order to regain the relationship with him, proposes a visit to two Halls of Fame in two different cities. The first is a museum of basketball champions, the other, which they will not be able to visit, concerns baseball. Visiting these museums means traveling, and I assure you that it seems like being in the car with Ford, seeing America again through the window with someone who explains to you what it is all about without letting you rely on your own speculations. I realize that much of the America that I have internalized through books is the one that writers have seen through the windows of their cars. In most American novels, one travels on routes and interstates. Traveling through this great country is a literary and psychological need.

The beginning of chapter 6 made me think of “Monsieur Monde Vanishes” by Simenon. It is a bit like reading the rough copy of the Belgian writer before he leaves only the essential. The essential in Ford has to be cut out by ourselves, he does not do the editing work in which Simenon excels. In Simenon's book, the days around Labor Day were described, other days of celebration and travel, other days when America was bustling.

We are in 1988, in the middle of the presidential campaign, the one that will put George Bush's bottom on the chair where Ronald Reagan was sitting. Ford made me remember the black reverend and the Democratic candidate who had a diver's surname, politicians compared to Jefferson and Adams, the first drafters of the Declaration of Independence and later presidents, evoked here and there during the narration.

Minor characters but still important for sketching Americanism in the late '80s are the Markaham couple looking for a home, Ted, the one who should sell it to them, and then Irv, Frank's stepbrother. The three main female characters are three, one of them will end up brutally killed and this will serve Ford to make us perceive another salient aspect of his country: insecurity. In America, you can be killed even by kids if you are in the wrong place.

Reading Ford is exhausting but also satisfying, even if not immediately. For me, it is like going for a run: I can't wait to arrive, and then in the shower, I appreciate how much the sacrifice has done me good.

Soundtrack

Cinderella - Gypsy Road
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6j7E7...

Jon Bon Jovi - Blaze Of Glory
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MfmYC...

(*1) Wanted reference to Updike's Rabbit saga and the run (in the shower)

If you have an abundance of books on your shelves, you have the opportunity to become an editor on Goodreads. Well, I guess I'm an editor. It was kind of cool for about six minutes when I had to upload what might be the only existing cover of "Dede O'Shea" into Goodreads. Behold my works, ye mighty, and despair!

But imagine my surprise when I learned that I could, if I so desired, go into the profile of a particularly detestable author - and I'm not naming any names (Richard Ford) - and edit some truth onto said unnamed (Richard Ford) author's profile.

I could include links about his ongoing feud with Colson Whitehead. How in 2002, the future two-time Pulitzer winner wrote a less than flattering review of this unnamed (Richard Ford) author's crappy short stories "A Multitude of Sins." "https://www.nytimes.com/2002/03/03/bo..." How the unnamed author (Richard Ford) spat in Whitehead's face at a cocktail party years later and still maintains he doesn't regret it. "https://www.theguardian.com/books/boo..."

I tell you, friend. My hands are itching.

====================================================================

So what about this book, you ask? My WORD, how I hated this book. Everything about it. The time wasted. The jumbled, mumbled, white, middle-aged whiny-bitch male nothingness of it. This book is like Fredo's Fredo: a paler, even more insipid imitation of an imitation of an imitation of a book. This is time you'll never get back, friend. And time spent organizing your Tupperware drawer or sweeping leaves out of your garage is far better spent.

Yes, I ranted about Donna Tartt and her outrageously overrated “The Goldfinch,” but I had forgotten about this stinking pile of steaming dung. (Donna Tartt, I'm sorry. Those 200 pages of the boys in Vegas look a little better to me when I remember this book. Also, you get points for not stooping so low as to spit in someone's face at a cocktail party or shoot a bullet hole through someone's book. As far as I know.)

This amazing piece is definitely going on my favorite's shelf.

I absolutely loved it! The moment I laid my eyes on it, I knew it was something special.

The way it was written, the ideas it presented, and the emotions it evoked all combined to create a truly captivating experience.

It had me hooked from the very beginning and I couldn't put it down until I had finished reading every single word.

I can't wait to share it with my friends and see if they have the same reaction as I did.

This is definitely a piece that I will be coming back to time and time again, as it has left a lasting impression on me.

I highly recommend it to anyone who is looking for a great read.

You know this American penchant for writing books or making movies about the everyday lives of ordinary, non-royal people. It works splendidly in films, but not always so well in literature. However, in "Independence Day," it reaches its zenith. It was an absolute delight to embark on this journey with Frank Bascombe. His interesting philosophy of life, his unapologetic honesty about his past and failures, his struggle to get his life in order on various levels, and the way he openly speaks his mind to the reader and other characters are all truly captivating.

There is something truly mesmerizing about the ability to fit complex, indivisible emotions and thoughts into the limited and partitive molds that language provides, namely words. And Ford does this so masterfully that I find it hard to believe Frank is a fictional character. In fact, all of his characters seem so real, even though real people rarely speak their minds with such decisiveness and eloquence.

I like to think that this book is part of the journal of a non-fictional Frank Bascombe, a witty man with more than his fair share of sorrow, who brushes it all aside with a touch of cynicism and good humor. (Richard Ford hardly even crosses my mind while reading.) Frank is a bit too observant, too analytical - Sherlock-Holmes-style analytical and observant - to be entirely real. Which, I believe, serves the American "thing" of making ordinary people incredibly interesting. In fact, the aforementioned wit, good humor, cynicism, and Sherlock-Holmes-like qualities, along with the vividness of the other characters, their own personal struggles to define themselves, and their overlap with Bascombe's, make this book prime material for an Oscar-winning film. It would be such a pity if it isn't made into a movie anytime soon. With George Clooney as Frank, perhaps.

As someone who views life as one big entity - things are either great or a complete mess - I daresay it was slightly life-changing to be exposed to Frank's (Ford's) approach to life as something like a puzzle. Here, it is normal and essential to try different pieces in different places, and it is necessary to fail and try again. That I can relate to and learn from the struggles of a middle-aged American living in New Jersey does wonders for my spirit. It serves as proof of the hypothesis that, beneath all our differences, we are human and have far more in common than we often care to see. This struggle towards self-discovery, wisdom, and lasting happiness is universal. These are beliefs I still hold despite all the chaos the world is currently witnessing.

The interaction between Frank Bascombe and his son, Paul, is yet another universal theme in the book: a father who loves his troubled son but can't quite "cure" him. Because he has his own uncertainties and so much he still needs to figure out. It's very human, very different from the know-it-all father figures, and much more interesting too. And yet, I have his advice to his son - not to be the "critic of his age" and not to think he isn't supposed to be happy - forever etched in my mind.

The last one I read, although in reality it would be the second of the tetralogy.

Probably the expectations were too high or, more likely, one should read them in the correct order, or, almost surely, one should - as advised by my bookseller Lovat - let a certain amount of time pass between one book and another of the same author.

Conclusion, I had quite a hard time getting to the end and certain pages bored me.

It's a pity because the other three I liked and R. Ford remains anyway an author that I appreciate; surely it was just the wrong moment. Beautiful the comment of @Rosen, much more exhaustive than mine