EVERYBODY'S FOOL (2016)
Richard Russo
Knopf, 477 pages
★★★★
Here's a wile away mental game. Who is on your list of
writers of whom you have read at least six of their novels? Aside from a
handful of mystery scribblers, my list is short: Margaret Atwood, Charles
Dickens, E. L. Doctorow, Thomas Hardy, John Irving, Barbara Kingsolver, Kurt
Vonnegut, Mark Twain, and Richard Russo. Only Russo holds the distinction of having
never disappointed me. Everybody's Fool
kept his record intact. It grabbed me on page one and never relented. That statement
is more profound than it seems on the surface, given that Everybody's Fool opens with a long description of/reflection upon
the town cemetery! It sets the tone magnificently for the pages that follow–a
skillful blend of droll humor, poignant moments, frolicsome hijinks,
heartbreaking misconnections, and hopefulness rolled into one sprawling tale.
It's the sequel to Nobody's
Fool, but Russo can't be accused of rashly jumping on the Second Act
Bandwagon–it's been 23 years since part one. Russo returns to North Bath, New
York, to update members of that memorable cast of characters that he hasn't planted in the
local cemetery. If you recall Nobody's
Fool (or the movie version of it) you'll remember that police officer Doug
Raymer foolishly fired upon the book's crusty protagonist, Donald
"Sully" Sullivan, a reckless act that led Sully to deck Raymer. Sully
is now 70-years-old, sporting a wrecked knee and a bad ticker that could send
him to perpetual rest at any moment. He's still the crankiest character since
Randle Patrick McMurphy in One Flew over
the Cuckoo's Nest, but Everybody's
Fool centers more on Raymer, elevated to North Bath police chief.
Locals mostly tolerate Raymer, though few respect him, but
they're not accustomed to expecting much. North Bath—widely thought to be
modeled on Ballston Spa–is where shit happens, both metaphorically and
literally. How unlike its immediate neighbor, Schuyler Springs (Saratoga), with
its artsy college, trendy cafes, soaring real estate market, and well-heeled
citizenry. Raymer's life parallels that of his town, a place where dreams turn
to schemes and fail miserably. Raymer lives alone in a seedy apartment complex,
his wife having died in a fall as she was on her way down the stairs to leave
him. All Doug has to soothe his hurt is a garage door opener that might be that
of her unknown lover. Does Doug want to know who it is? Of course, despite the
counsel of his assistant, an attractive and smart black woman named Charice,
who often seems like she's coming on to Raymer. If only Doug could be as suave
and smooth as her twin brother, Jerome—who, naturally, lives and works in Schuyler.
Sully still holds court at local dinners and bars where
locals kvetch about how unfair it is that everything
seems to go right in Schuyler, but their litanies have an air of resignation.
It's a survivor's game in North Bath—quite different than a thriver's game. Reviewers have been too
quick to assume that Raymer is the titular character. In my reading, Russo
intends us to muse upon that question, as well as contemplate what constitutes
a fool. Raymer has his woes, but he's not alone. Jerome isn't as cool as he
seems; Sully's former lover, Ruth, wonders why she's still waitressing and why
she's still married to Ralph, a seeming jobless loser supreme who spends his
time scavenging every bit of detritus until their home resembles a salvage yard
on steroids. But is either a bigger fool than their airhead daughter Janey, who
has been inexplicably nice to her ex-husband Roy, just out the penitentiary for
a series of burglaries and for breaking Janey's jaw? Is Roy a fool for thinking
he has turned his life around, or still a petty con man with a penchant for
violence?
Other "fool" candidates include Sully's old
friend/nemesis contractor Carl Roebuck, now divorced, teetering on the brink of
bankruptcy, reduced to renting a room in the house Sully inherited from his
former teacher Beryl Peoples, and, recovering from prostate surgery that has left
him impotent. Indeed, wouldn't only a fool worry more about his lost erection
than the prospect of losing his company?
Or maybe the fool is Sully's hangdog hanger-on friend Rub—he of little
brain and fewer prospects. Or maybe it's Sully himself, unexpectedly flush for
life thanks to Beryl, but with as much aptitude for living away from life's
margins as a kangaroo has for ballet.
Mix this cast of goofballs, goons, malcontents, lovable
losers, and disreputable reprobates together with some malapropisms,
wisecracks, and bizarre situations. Toss in plot twists that involve dollops of
every social problem in the book, including dealers of illegal exotic reptiles,
and you've got one heck of a story. Parts of it are highly improbable and, on
occasion, North Bath feels so desperate that it's painful to contemplate, but
Russo's greatest escape act is to pull us back from the edge through controlled
releases of hilarity and hope. There is no current writer who gets the vibe,
the rhythms, and the essence of blue-collar life like Richard Russo. Like I
said, he has never disappointed me. I ripped through this book faster than
Sully could dream up barroom ripostes.
Rob Weir
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