Even though this book won the Pulitzer prize, it isn't as good as the first book.

Selling houses is not that interesting, but this book was very funny. The humor always comes right out of nowhere, making you say to yourself, "He really said that?"

Frank Bascombe is 43 years old and lives in New Jersey, working as a real estate agent.

In just a few days, he has the sale of a house to a couple from Vermont and the complicated collection of rent at stake. He also ponders the violent death of a former colleague/lover, has confrontations with his ex-wife and a woman he may be in love with, and organizes a mini-trip with his 14-year-old son who lives in Connecticut.

There are several hundred pages about life and its difficulties, about making tough decisions, about trying to be honest with oneself. Reflections on society, demographic flows, suburban neighborhoods, and the real estate market take up a significant amount of space.

Essentially, nothing particularly special happens, which isn't necessarily a negative point. It is longer (too long) and less effective compared to the previous Sportswriter. I would have expected to feel more involved in his personal battle, although there is still a certain magnetic aura.

Potentially very good, but it is too burdened with phrases and decisive moments. That it won the 1996 Pen/Faulkner and Pulitzer (versus Sabbath's Theater!) is, shall we say, a bit surprising. The calls from the phone booths are among the best things. Hyper-American.

[70/100]

Now in his middle-middle age, Frank Bascombe is engaged in the realty business. He doesn't concern himself as much with women these days. However, the fact that his ex-wife has remarried is not entirely easy for him to tolerate. Additionally, his teenage son seems to be going off the rails. Suddenly, Frank finds himself caring about politics. This is because his town, Haddam in New Jersey, is experiencing outbreaks of inexplicable violent anomie and a decline in property values. Naturally, he has a倾向 towards the Democratic Party.
Richard Ford is attempting to pen a more substantial novel this time, one with a broader scope and vision regarding America. He is capable of crafting excellent scenes, particularly arguments and awkward revelations. Unfortunately, though, the sense of intimacy isn't quite present. The rhythm and texture of his writing at times devolve into a sloshy chit-chat of nouns and activities. And for some reason, the book has expanded by an extra 70 pages.
Then again, the other night I was reading about the old concept (attributed to Dryden) that the proper function of art is to evoke fear and pity. Ford has managed to achieve this with his hapless everyman character.

Okay, it's high time I gave up on this [terribly smug] masterpiece of an American novel.

I have been persevering with it for quite some time, hoping to discover the hidden gems and profound meanings that others seem to rave about. However, as I delved deeper into the story, I found myself increasingly frustrated and disillusioned.

The characters, instead of being complex and relatable, came across as one-dimensional and overly self-assured. Their actions and decisions felt forced and contrived, lacking the authenticity that would have made me truly invest in their fates.

The plot, too, failed to grip me. It meandered along aimlessly, with too many subplots and tangents that detracted from the main narrative. There was no real sense of urgency or conflict to keep me on the edge of my seat.

In conclusion, while this novel may be lauded as a masterpiece by some, it simply doesn't resonate with me. It's time for me to cut my losses and move on to something that can truly capture my imagination and engage my intellect.

Another Home Run in the Frank Bascombe Series



Richard Ford's fictional alter ego, Frank Bascombe, is an incredibly vivid character. In "Independence Day", the second and most renowned of the four Bascombe books, Ford showcases his intimate knowledge of this charming, flawed Everyman. The result is a masterpiece of realistic fiction, a significant chapter in Ford's Great American Epic.



After the midlife crisis hinted at the end of "The Sportswriter", Frank, now 44, is back in Haddam, NJ. He has repurchased his old house, is selling real estate, dating a new woman, and managing several properties. His ex-wife Ann has remarried and lives in Vermont with their two children. Paul, 15, is acting out, leading Frank to suggest a Fourth of July weekend road trip.



This book is longer and denser than "The Sportswriter" but equally readable. It has a leisurely pace, with detours to phone booths and motel visits. The writing is stunning, with profound metaphors about independence and life. Set in 1988, the book captures a fascinating time in American history. The central section, about the father-son road trip, contains some of the most powerful prose on the subject. I've devoured over 800 pages about Frank Bascombe in a short time, but I need a break. I'll definitely finish the series, though, as I'm eager to know what happens to Frank. These books offer wise and truthful insights into life that will endure.

3.5 stars.

I have to say that I liked The Sportswriter better, as far as my memory serves me.

The self-loathing routine of Frank Bascombe can become a bit tiresome after a while.

And there were moments when I was really fed up with it, and Ford's writing style seemed to be like that of a poor man's John Cheever.

Nevertheless, it was still a pleasant diversion.

It felt like reading historical fiction, taking me back to the carefree early 1990s.

Back then, a middle-aged white guy could complain for 400 pages about almost nothing at all.

It was an interesting look into that particular time and mindset.

Overall, while it had its flaws, it still managed to hold my attention and provide some entertainment.

Ένας μεγάλος συγγραφέας κι ένα σπουδαίο βιβλίο μπορούν να αλλάξουν τη ζωή μας. Ο συγγραφέας έχει τη δυνατότητα να δημιουργήσει έναν κόσμο μέσα από τις λέξεις του, να μας μεταφέρει σε διαφορετικές εποχές, χώρες και εμπειρίες. Μέσω του βιβλίου, μπορούμε να γνωρίσουμε νέες ιδέες, να αποκτήσουμε γνώση και να αναπτύξουμε την ικανότητά μας να σκεφτόμαστε διαφορετικά.

Ένα σπουδαίο βιβλίο είναι σαν ένας μαγικός πόδι που μας οδηγεί σε ένα νέο περιπέτειο. Μπορεί να μας συγκινήσει, να μας κάνει να γελάσουμε ή να μας κάνει να κλάψουμε. Μπορεί να μας δώσει την δύναμη να ξεπεράσουμε τις δυσκολίες της ζωής και να ανανεωθεί το όραμα μας για το μέλλον.

Ένας μεγάλος συγγραφέας και ένα σπουδαίο βιβλίο είναι σαν δύο άστρα που αναδεικνύουν τη σωστή κατεύθυνση στην σκοτεινή νύχτα. Είναι κάτι που πρέπει να αναζητούμε και να απολαύσουμε, γιατί μπορούν να μας δώσουν μια εμπειρία που θα μείνει με μας για πάντα.

As much as I enjoyed The Sportswriter, I found Independence Day to be even better.

Frank Bascomb is no longer in 1987 with a "Vote Blue!" bumper sticker on his Crown Vic, rolling towards his mid-40s and the end of the Existence period. His wife, Ann, has moved to Deep Valley, Connecticut and remarried a rich, moody older man whom Frank detests.

The story unfolds, like The Sportswriter, over the three-day Independence Day weekend, filled with unexpected surprises, both good and not so great.

Frank has moved back to New Jersey after his affair with the lovely young medical student. He has traded his sports column for a job in real estate and purchased a few rental properties in Haddam. One is empty, and the other is inhabited by the McLeod family, with tense relations.

The novel is rich with metaphors involving real estate, paralleling our reactions to the disappointments of middle age. We meet characters like the hapless Joe and Phillis Markham from Vermont, and Karl Bemish, with whom Frank has a root beer and hotdog stand.

Frank's relationships, including with his current part-time girlfriend Sally, are complex and never quite as predictable as one might expect. The book also delves into themes such as nostalgia, resolve, and how writers deal with disappointment and divorce.

Despite some negative comments from others, I truly believe Independence Day is a worthy Pulitzer Prize winner, extremely well-written and insightful. It may require multiple reads and contemplation to fully absorb its lessons, but it is well worth the effort.

I am currently engaged in the process of reading every Pulitzer Prize-winning novel that has been published since my birth. The 1996 winner by Richard Ford, titled [novel name], meanders from one interesting character to another. However, it fails to truly take the reader on a significant journey. The plot is rather thin, lacking in substance and depth. Nevertheless, I was already aware of this after reading the criticisms, so I prepared myself for the 20+ hour Audible experience.

The narrator, Richard Poe, is truly superb. His amazing delivery makes it effortless to listen to the adventures (though, to be honest, "adventures" might be too strong a word) of the main character, Frank Bascombe. Frank is a privileged realtor whose job provides him with numerous opportunities to wax eloquent about life and property. The weak plot actually allows me to simply tune in and enjoy the beautiful writing without having to closely follow any real action.

Ford's strength lies in his almost surgical descriptions of his characters and settings. These detailed descriptions make the book almost worth reading. Additionally, due to the age of the book, his political rants against George H. W. Bush create an interesting anachronism in light of the actual political chaos that has occurred in the past few years.

Overall, this is a well-written book that ultimately doesn't have much to say. It's a pleasant enough read, but it doesn't leave a lasting impression.

So, I purchased this book in California at the Westlake Village Library's "Book Nook".

My grandmother has been a dedicated volunteer there for decades and always takes me whenever I visit. I suspect it's because she constantly forgets that she has already brought me there countless times before.

And, believe it or not, I managed to reach the very end of the book only to discover that someone (most likely the previous irresponsible owner) had torn out the last page. Who could do such a thing?!!

You might assume that the suspense of not knowing how this book concludes would be excruciating, and that I would be dashing to Powells to obtain the nearest copy and finish the book as quickly as possible. Yet, unfortunately, I find myself not really caring. And it's ironically appropriate because this book is somewhat all about not caring.

It's not that I didn't make an effort either. I truly, truly desired to like this book. Ford is a remarkable writer, and he has moments of sheer brilliance and even more moments of absolute hilarity. However, Frank Bascombe, the novel's central character, has to be one of the least likable ever devised. He is unfaithful, greedy, lecherous, deceitful, and (worst of all) dull. He reminds me of Updike's Rabbit, only he is wealthier, which I believe makes him even less appealing. And, while I appreciate the narrator's honesty (he even admits to sizing up the surgeon who is about to convey news regarding his son's life-threatening injury), he is ultimately a complete jerk. I think we can all relate to the overwhelming apathy of Frank Bascombe. Nevertheless, at the end of the day, books about individuals who don't feel anything aren't all that interesting. Probably because they don't evoke any emotions in you.

I couldn't help but laugh out loud when I took a look at the box below this review. It's the kind of box where one can choose to hide his review, all because he's afraid of revealing any "spoilers." But let me tell you, for this novel, that would be an absolute impossibility. It is truly, to put it in the words of Seinfeld, a book "about nothing."

Well, hold on a second. That's not entirely accurate. There is indeed that one thing that occurs around page 300. I'm not going to ruin it for you. Heaven knows you'll have put in a great deal of effort and time by then. It took me a whopping two months to finish this book. I actually stopped reading it several times and managed to read four other books from start to finish in between.

So, you might be wondering, why did I give it four stars?

The answer is simple: Richard Ford is an outstanding writer. This book is essentially a 450-page character sketch of Frank Bascombe. And here's the frustrating part: Ford is truly masterful. I have a feeling that I could probably read his grocery list and still be thoroughly entertained. Through Ford's pen, Bascombe dishes out so many nuggets of middle-aged suburban wisdom that, at times, I found myself highlighting entire pages. There are only a few authors I've come across who can pull this off - this style that is very light on plot and completely reliant on the character contract with the reader. Philip Roth is one of them. John Updike is another. Maybe John Irving too, although, of course, with Irving, you just know that someone or something is going to get impaled. It's just a matter of time. And that's always exciting. In any case, I'm now adding Ford to that impressive list of master craftsmen.

But this style isn't for everyone. I adored the movie Boyhood. I heard some of my friends criticizing it, saying that "nothing really HAPPENS." But that's precisely what I liked about it. That's what most of our childhoods are like. Things seem momentous in the moment, but for the most part, the lucky majority of us get through life with a few stitches, a few broken hearts, some embarrassments, and a lot of laughter. The same goes for this novel. Somehow, Ford does an incredibly entertaining job of capturing the banality and desperation of mid-life suburban self-creation. Of course, a few things "happen." But by and large, Frank Bascombe wants what we all want: for life to mean just a little something more than mere existence. But the beauty of Ford's character is that deep down, he knows that even the self-imposed "existence period" following his divorce is an existential victory of value - maybe not a day of revolution, but an independence day nonetheless.

I often tell myself that I should read more works from the past to have a better understanding of the changes and trends in the literary world. Since I started school 20 years ago, the 90s were relatively recent. There weren't many classes that covered literature later than the 80s, except for a couple of classes that focused specifically on more contemporary literature.

That means I never read Richard Ford. The cover of this book indicates that it won a Pulitzer, and the blurb on the back describes the main character as "one of the most unforgettable characters in American fiction."

The problem is that this book is not good. As I was reading it, I thought about the parties held in honor of Ford and the people with professional jealousies looking at him and believing that their work was just as good. Ford must have loved the praise!

Here's my criticism as an angry high school reader: Nothing happens. I kept waiting for something significant to occur, but it wasn't until around page 400 of a 450-page book that a minor event took place. And it had low stakes. I had to force myself to read the last 30 pages just to complete my mental checklist.

A book doesn't necessarily need a lot of action to be interesting. The other issue is that Fran Bascombe is a boring character. We spend the entire book inside his head, and I can't understand how there are three other books with him as the central character. I'll never read them to find out. None of the other characters are interesting either. He's a real estate agent dealing with uninteresting clients. The love interest is a cipher. The ex-wife may have some depth, but we don't see much of her. The only character with any real spark is his son, Paul. If the book were centered around him and was half the length, it might have worked.

But as it is, this book doesn't work. However, here's the paradoxical thing: the book feels technically well-written. It's like a model for an MFA class in terms of structure and sentence-level elegance! Even so, it's not a good book. You don't need to read this one.