Note: Written after originally reading book approx May 2012.
"'Really? You wouldn't, in a few years, say, consider running for governor? Or something bigger?'
Owens smiled enigmatically. Then the journalist glanced at Jane and asked whether he would encourage young people to follow his example in having children out of wedlock.
'Just to be clear,' he said, basketing his hands, 'I'm not running for anything. And if I ever do, it won't be for canonization. I'd run for some office that's been held by men who might've done a great job for this country or a poor job but, without exception, men who've made mistakes. Whether they've acknowledged them or not. And I acknowledge my mistakes.'
'Oh, great,' Jane said when the avid young woman left. 'It'll be on the six o'clock news that I'm a mistake.'
A girl is sent from the mountain commune of her youth in search of the millionaire father she's never met. The father, juggling two R&D firms and unconventional political aspirations with an all-consuming love for fine arts and health foods, suffers from reality denial. "Plain" Jane is absorbed into her father's radical network of friends, associates, and lovers, and craves only stability, more and more with every new defiant idea she meets.
This is a story that can only be set in California.
More than location, Mona Simpson's 1996 novel is a product of its time. Often subtle, and with its effect strongest in the superior first third of the book (more on that later), A Regular Guy stitches together the generational identities of the 1960s and the '90s. Both eras, particularly along the West Coast, saw the impact of what flummoxed father Tom Owens himself describes as "the universe cracked open for a little while and a certain number of people got out, some of the brightest people in the world".
The difference: some might call the '60s counterculture a flash in the pan, but Owens, with his technical genius and business acumen, structures it into a way of life. With the identity-challenged Jane filling the role of protagonist, much of A Regular Guy pivots on the follow-up question: 'Now what?'
So the novel opens on what life is like as Jane and her mother, barely a penny between them but plenty of moxie, endure their nomadic ways in the California countryside, post-hippie apocalypse. All the while Owens looms in the distance, secure in his wealth and frustratingly unknowable. Both Jane and mother Mary (curious choice of names) are strong and self-sustaining despite this, but circumstance ultimately sends Jane off on her own to reunite with Owens.
Jane's journey is built up and then told across a chapter, and it's the strongest point of the book. It's a credit to Simpson's writing that the notion of a ten-year old, however street-smart, handling this task feels compelling rather than fantastical. The details of Mary's plan for Jane's pilgrimage ring true with razor-sharp worldly pragmatism, and the anxiety behind the curtain of the dark, open landscape Jane crosses for miles is damn near tangible.
An entirely new world unfolds for Jane, and the bulk of the novel from here on out is driven by the minute details of personal relationships in high society, rather than by any big twists. Simpson's aptitude for connecting small physical details with complex emotional or societal underpinnings is on frequent display. While I appreciated what her metaphors reveal (particularly in convergence with her study of women's roles) about the challenge of, and necessity for, reconciling one's image with unrealized desires, I really came to miss the drive and the tension during the latter two-thirds of the book.
Largely, I think, this is because the novel focuses broadly, skipping around in time and diverting from the main cast to investigate tertiary characters and their mindframes. Consequently, A Regular Guy often winds up reading as a series of short stories about this bizarre family and its associates. To be fair, most of these snippets are plenty palpable, with unique and vibrantly painted settings, and they do a fine job communicating something about the characters.
An oddly memorable example is Owens going on a "bike date"; the same drive that makes him charming ultimately reveals a man detached, aloof about the intimacy he himself engendered, and the hapless woman experiences her own miniature "lights gone out in Araby" disillusionment. Meanwhile Jane, who Owens treats not like a daughter but as a confidante for his romantic adventures, tags along, silent but knowing: she can read the grown-ups like a book.
But almost every tale hinges on a desire unrealized or conviction unexpressed by the character, and all the yearning can get exhausting. More than once I wanted to yell through the book to Owens "Come on, character! Develop already!" For a while it seems like Jane's desire to go to school, which encapsulates the generational conflict between the girl seeking structure and the father challenging norms, would drive the narrative forward, but this is resolved rather quietly.
Granted, for some characters, like Owens' wheelchair-bound scientist buddy Noah (who I kept picturing as Philip Seymour Hoffman), the yearning builds up to a moment in the sun, and there is satisfaction to be had. Others, like Owens himself, and his girlfriend Olivia, left me more befuddled.
Though there's a contextual reason to forgive this. If A Regular Guy seems like a static portrait of a somewhat bizarre person, one who'd be a key player in real-world America, it's no coincidence: Mona Simpson was drawing on the real life story of her brother Steve Jobs and his estranged daughter Lisa.
Thinking about this book as a real-life allegory affirmed my impression of what it's really all about. It's not Owens, because his character development is too minor to the story, and it's not really about Jane either, though it seems that way at first. It's about being a person in Owens' life.
Simpson certainly conveys this well – Owens' charisma comes across best in his scenes rallying his employees and utilizing a unique, humanistic management style, while his aloofness and benign arrogance (his internal monologue on a vegan diet just calls it 'the right way to eat') are prominent as we view him primarily through the people in his life seeking a deeper relationship, stymied by this unconventional man and his drive.
It's in line with this theme that the most interesting perspective I've read was the reaction of Jobs' daughter Lisa, the real-life Jane, in the Harvard Advocate three years after this book hit the press. Mona Simpson, as Lisa's aunt, was a chief confidante during her childhood, and her exposure to Lisa's mindframe provided the source of internal musings for the Jane character.
Intending to sift out the true and the exaggerated, Lisa was surprised to find some of Jane's thoughts and situations matching her own nearly word-for-word, even when she'd never shared them with Aunt Mona. Her essay captures the complex interplay between fiction and reality better than I could ever hope, and ought to be considered as a side text for future editions of this book.
Overall, this is a neat novel for slowly exploring some subtle undercurrents. The characters are realistic, the dialogue even moreso, and the time and place are brought to life, but all is presented in a what-you-see-is-what-you-get fashion. It's not the first novel I would recommend, but given the enormous impact of a man like Steve Jobs precisely because of how he blurred the line between personality and profession, it's a worthy study for a patient reader.