This. Is. The Business.
The story may be slight but through the inner life of its narrator Henry Hurt (read into the name what you will) this exceptionally good novel delivers an underlying truth about the human condition. A bright but in all other respects just an ordinary guy, Henry is the manager of Engineering at Cyber Systems, a mid-size software company in the American South. The business is struggling; it needs to get new accounts fast. Henry likes and respects his boss, shrewd cookie Keith, and he pines for Jane, a married co-worker in marketing.
On Henry’s trips home to visit family, his sister Gretchen berates him for not doing something more worthwhile with his life, with his career. But Henry loves his work and, with so many jobs on the line, he wants to see the company survive. To him, this is every bit as worthwhile as his sister’s more obvious ‘do-gooding’. Meanwhile, both siblings are concerned for their widower father whose sharp brain seems to be failing. Henry and Gretchen’s mother has been dead for almost a year and her shadowy presence hovers not only over the three family members but also over the reader. This is very well done.
J. Bradford Hipps is a writer unknown to me and, I suspect, to many others. I found myself re-reading sentence after sentence, paragraph after paragraph. From an abundance of seemingly quotable chunks, few can really be appreciated out of context but here is something self-contained that at least may provide an idea of the thoughtfulness of the writing. This is Henry talking about Cyber’s new sales manager Ian whom, it is fervently hoped, will be the company’s saviour:
“What is unusual – what is baffling in fact, what accounts, perhaps, for this sudden unmooring, this seasick sense – is how fluently he moves from tragedy to confession to absurdity. He glides over experience as if on a skin. There is nothing, it seems, that can’t be covered over, smoothed out, and made to match, the serious and the unserious, the devout and the glancing. All that is wanted is a ready, crazy-world shrug. But how does method come to him? Does he meet sadness, strangeness, as would a crusader: eye to eye, keenly seeing the world as it is but refusing to be budged from his own pilgrim’s progress? Or is he as inattentive to the puzzle, the dissonance, as one thumbing channels (…poker, Bogart, beer ad, massacre…) before dropping off to sleep?” I love that parenthesis.
This quiet story of office life thrown off kilter is a cliché-free zone. My one quibble, if quibble there must be, is that the dialogue of Henry’s love-interest Jane is just a bit too clever to be convincing. (I mean, who uses the world ‘simulacrum’ in everyday speech?) So just one caveat in a rich, wry and deeply moving reading experience. Ah me - how wonderful it is to discover such a fine new writer.