Abbott Awaits

by Chris Bachelder

A quiet tour de force, Chris Bachelder's Abbott Awaits transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary, startlingly depicting the intense and poignant challenges of a vulnerable, imaginative father as he lives his everyday American existence.
In Abbott we see a modern-day Sisyphus: he is the exhausted father of a lively two-year old, the ruminative husband of a pregnant insomniac, and the confused owner of a terrified dog. Confronted by a flooded basement, a broken refrigerator, a urine-soaked carpet, and a literal snake in the woodpile, Abbott endures the beauty and hopelessness of each moment, often while contemplating evolutionary history, altruism, or the passage of time.
An expectant father and university teacher on summer break, Abbott tackles the agonizing chores of each day, laboring for peace in his household and struggling to keep his daughter clean and happy, all while staving off a fear of failure as a parent, and even as a human being. As he cleans car seats, forgets to apply sun block, clips his dog's nails, dresses his daughter out of season, and makes unsuccessful furniture-buying trips with his wife, his mind plays out an unrelenting series of paradoxical reflections. Abbott's pensive self-doubt comes to a head one day in late June as he cleans vomited raspberries out of his daughter's car seat and realizes: "The following propositions are both true: (A) Abbott would not, given the opportunity, change one significant element of his life, but (B) Abbott cannot stand his life."
Composed of small moments of domestic wonder and terror, Abbott Awaits is a charming story of misadventure, anxiety, and the everyday battles and triumphs of parenthood.

Genres: Fiction, Literary Fiction, Novels, Contemporary, Humor

192 pages, Kindle Edition

First published March 1, 2011

About the author

Chris Bachelder is the author of Bear V. Shark, U.S.!: Songs and Stories, Abbott Awaits, and The Throwback Special. His fiction and essays have appeared in McSweeney’s, The Believer, and the Paris Review. He lives with his wife and two daughters in Cincinnati, where he teaches at the University of Cincinnati.

Reviews

[Vit Babenco · Rating 4 out of 5]

The title Abbott Awaits summarizes the plot of the novel completely – for the three summer months the main character awaits when his wife gives birth to their second child so the book is a diary of his quotidian occupations from day to day: his little chores, petty memories, insignificant events, trivial thoughts.

Is Abbott afflicted by a problem of psychology or a problem of philosophy? Are these discrete problems? Are these rhetorical questions? Back inside the house, Abbott, reaching irritably, wonders if he has a responsibility to enjoy his life, given the material conditions of his existence. Preoccupation with suffering does not alleviate suffering. Preoccupation with suffering actually causes suffering. Therefore, it is both practical and ethical to ignore suffering…

Waiting isn’t such an easy thing and Abbott is full of anxiety, qualms and apprehensions… He has even devised a radical remedy:

Gone are the daydreams of academic notoriety and glistening vulvas and whatever else. All Abbott wants right now – the only thing – is to be knocked unconscious by the long wooden handle of a lawn tool.

While waiting we live and while living we wait.

[Chris · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Abbott approaches sleep with an ineffable sense of relief that he did not know, before having a child, what it was like to have a child--did not really know what it was really like--because if he had known before having a child how profoundly strenuous and self-obliterating it is to have a child, he never would have had a child, and then, or now, he would not have this remarkable child.”*

I see a lot of myself in Abbott. I like to think I have a big heart but I’m mostly just a selfish prick. I love my kids like I’ve never loved anything before, but I also hate them for what they've done to my life. Parenthood is so damn boring. I want freedom! I daydream about having an affair with the flirtatious waitress at the restaurant where I occasionally pick up takeouts just because it would bring some goddamn excitement to my life. But I won’t do that because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Plus I wouldn't want to hurt my wife. After all, she has succeeded in doing what every woman tries to do to their husband: she made me a better man. Before my wife took over my life, I never would have dreamed of doing all of the shit I do around the house. Now on a typical Saturday morning I go grocery shopping, do three loads of laundry, change a few poop-filled diapers, and mow the lawn before my single friends have even gotten back from the bars. I’m a fucking robot. I hate my life. I want to fill my car with books and booze and drive westward! I won’t stop until I taste freedom or run out of gas money. But I’m no Rabbit Angstrom and neither is Abbott. We just struggle sometimes with how to be a husband, a father, and a man. We may think we want to drift away, but we know we won’t. We’d be even more miserable than we are now.

Abbott Awaits is my favorite book from 2011 and it could be yours if you would just read it, you jerk. It won’t take long. I sent this book as a gift to one of my friends whose wife was pregnant with their second child and he read the whole thing at the hospital while she was in labor. Here's the text he sent me to announce the birth: “[Our son] arrived yesterday. Mom and baby are doing well. By the way, I just finished Abbott Awaits. Great little book!” Notice which sentence got the exclamation point.

* The quoted sentence should win an award for how many times it uses the words "have" and "child" but don’t let that scare you off. The book is really smart and funny and well-written.

[Doug · Rating 5 out of 5]

Bachelder has rapidly become a favorite of mine, I’m consistently amazed by his ability to elevate the mundane. One of my favorite chapters in this book is about an ear of corn...enough said.

[Antonio · Rating 3 out of 5]

3,5⭐

[JimZ · Rating 3 out of 5]

The book is divided into three sections, June, July, and August, with the number of days in each month as book chapters. The protagonist is an instructor or assistant professor (I guess without tenure) on summer break from his teaching job at a local university/college. His wife is expecting and they have one young daughter. Chapters are at most 2 pages, often less than that. You are reading the man’s ruminations about himself and those around him. He at times see the glass as half full but more than not it is half empty. He second guesses himself a lot, he oftentimes imagines the worst. The book had its moments. I have nothing bad to say about it. Pieces of this novel were published in the Cincinnati Review, Subtropics, StorySouth and Best of the Web 2010. I did bookmark one sentence of his that touched me: “He is looking at his daughter. Later-not now, thank goodness-Abbott will have to consider how it is possible that watching another person live so fully and directly can feel so powerfully like living fully and directly.” I think it affected me because I have two sons. Something about living vicariously through other people, in this case my offspring...and when they do good, I do good. I would give this novel 2.5 stars.

[Mark Dickson · Rating 5 out of 5]

A perfect blend of humor and observation. This book is so spot-on and funny that it might be easy to miss how smart it really is. Bachelder manages to casually drop intensely deep insights into both interpersonal relationships and self-reflection. Abbott is a perfect (post-)post-modern union of Updike and Rabbit, both the literary observer and the protagonist slogging through the trench of domestic mundacities.

[Chloë Fowler · Rating 4 out of 5]

A little corker. A nifty insight into fellas to boot. What a literary snack of a Scotch Egg where the egg is still oozy and warm and the outside crackles.

[Mario · Rating 3 out of 5]

En un capítulo del libro se dice que Charles Darwin aseguró una vez que, si se casaba, no podría disfrutar de los libros, los viajes, etcétera. Esto lo dijo antes de casarse, porque un año después lo hizo y reconoció que era lo mejor que le había pasado.

Abbott es profesor universitario. Compagina su actividad en el campus con el cuidado de su hija de dos años y de su mujer, embarazada y necesitada de descanso y silencio. Por tanto, tiene todos los ingredientes para convertirse en una historia que despierte sonrisas por la vida que lleva Abbott. Sin embargo, a mí me ha desencantado.

El autor es un escritor de cierta relevancia en Estados Unidos. A propósito de Abbott es, sin embargo, su única obra traducida al español, que cosecha buenas críticas entre sus lectores en su lengua de origen. Una historia que parece brillante sobre la paternidad se convierte en un difícil laberinto, y no porque resulte confusa, sino porque el lector siente que no llega a ninguna parte, que solo da vueltas y más vueltas en torno a un concepto.

Abbott es un padre agobiado que echa de menos tener tiempo libre. Si lo hubiera sabido, de hecho, no habría sido padre. “Si tuviera la ocasión, Abbott no cambiaría ni uno de los elementos fundamental de su vida, pero Abbott no soporta su vida”, se dice. No tiene tiempo para tener amigos y alguna vez llega a dialogar con personajes imaginarios. Parece un libro adecuado para aquellos que son padres, primerizos o no, y que se han enfrentado o se enfrentarán pronto a la paternidad, pero realmente es un libro que cualquiera puede leer.

Cuando su mujer descansa del embarazo, Abbott sale a pasear con su hija. O planea juegos con ella. Un día, hace un pan de plátano en el horno, y otro arregla el pomo de una puerta, aunque con poco éxito. Es un marido y padre, en mi opinión, sacrificado que sin embargo no se encuentra cómodo y no ve recompensado, ni le agradecen, lo que hace. Parece estar ido en algunos momentos, es un personaje pintoresco.

Su mujer, por otra parte, parece no hacerle demasiado caso, está hostil con él la mayor parte del tiempo. A ambos les ha venido todo de golpe. No les viene grande el segundo hijo, pero sí les ha pillado, digamos, desprevenidos. El personaje de ella, que resulta bastante fría, es un digno objeto de estudio para el narrador, que la analiza y juzga implícitamente. El personaje de la mujer y la niña, sin embargo, son muy secundarios con el protagonismo que ejerce Abbott, como es propio de una novela que lleva su nombre en el título. La novela termina, finalmente, el día 31 de agosto, cuando nace la segunda hija.

La novela se divide en tres partes: una que se desarrolla en junio, otra en julio y otra en agosto. A partir de capítulos brevísimos que son una especie de diario, Bachelder nos presenta una obra que —por si tuviera poca espesura— no contiene ni un punto y aparte. La narración se lleva a cabo en el mismo párrafo, solo separada cuando se cambia de capítulo, lo cual, por suerte, ocurre con mucha frecuencia. Y los diálogos, que podrían resultar una gran oportunidad para desahogar una historia como esta, se incrustan en esta narración y forman parte del bizcocho en el que hay, por cierto, muchas frases telegráficas.

Aunque está narrada en tercera persona, la novela nos transmite el punto de vista del protagonista, aunque el narrador omnisciente nos desvela en exclusiva algo más de lo que ocurre alrededor de Abbott y que él parece no percibir. Con algún toque de humor, la narración pretende ser graciosa sin éxito, al menos en mi opinión, y queda una historia casi paternalista.

En esta novela encontramos la paternidad como tema principal, y todo lo que esta implica: paciencia, sacrificio, amor, cariño, dedicación, evolución y avance… Me recuerda, en cierto modo, a "Cáscara de nuez", de Ian McEwan, porque las mujeres de ambas novelas están embarazadas y todo gira en cierto modo a los vástagos de los protagonistas, aunque las historias son bastante diferentes.

Con una coherencia temporal indiscutible, el título de la obra recuerda a esa forma de titular de aspecto personal como también lo es "Tenemos que hablar de Kevin". El diseño de cubierta, por su parte, muestra una escena cotidiana de la vida de este protagonista, agobiado por las tareas del hogar y el cuidado de la hija.

Aunque la novela se aleja de arquetipos argumentales para construir una novela sobre la cotidianidad, quizás resulta insípida a ojos de un lector que espera algo más.

[Ebenmaessiger · Rating 4 out of 5]

What Bachelder does is what he does well, and what he does well is a function of his limited purview (itself a potential negative), which is strictly related to the strange non-time of small-child childcare. There’s a reason the focus is so monumentally confined — it’s because that’s the nature of this kind of parental work. What that kind of parental work does leave time for, however, is precisely what he catalogs so well here: because the kid's in a strange in-between age — not the perennially helpless infant and also not the more human-like kindergartner — the caretaker is, on the one hand, physically occupied — in giving voices to puppets or picking up buttons or, in an aside that I like in the novel, “making the remote dance“ — but on the other hand not mentally occupied, which allows for strange and expanse mental digressions. Thinking about thinking, in other words. This is most evident in the chapter titled "On the Very Possibility of Kindness" from the July section. Here, Bachelder is attuned to the fragile and tenuous boundaries between happiness and misery, between satisfaction and deep longing, between exhaustion and regret, as both a parent and spouse. More concretely, he is aware of the fact that simply thinking about the emotion you’re currently experiencing — or at least being aware of the fact that you are now experiencing it — is often enough to either destroy or mutate that emotion beyond its original influence.

"He thinks with fondness of his wife, who keeps these adjusted recipe cards somewhere in their house. He doesn’t really think; he just feels fondness, fondness in a kind of jolt. He follows the adjusted recipe. His motivations for baking are unclear, even to himself. He’s just baking, and at some point in the process he realizes he is enjoying himself, a realization that leads to an over-awareness of baking in the enjoyment of baking, which threatens to spoil the experience but does not.”

[D.W. Hudson · Rating 5 out of 5]

There are the rare occasions when I'll be engaged in something quite ordinary, but am so presently aware of my feelings and thoughts, that I realize, "Ah, this is what it feels like to live in the moment." I appreciate these uncommon instances of self-awareness that can elevate a mundane moment to be genuinely notable, even if only for me. And I often wish I could take a snapshot of what was happening and how I felt, so that I could revisit those instances later. But they're so fleeting or difficult to define in words that recording them seems impossible.

Yet this is precisely what Chris Bachelder captures in "Abbott Awaits." I'm in delighted awe of the detail so richly describing the emphatically ordinary seconds or minutes or hours of Abbott's every day with his wife and two-year-old daughter. One's thoughts before a somersault. Sweeping up the remnants of his daughter's haircut. Arguing over ingredients in syrup. Every chapter feels like an accomplishment in chronicling the easily forgettable slices of life that we all experience.

I casually cruised through this book in a weekend, laughing and crying and relating. When I finished, I desperately wanted more. Bachelder captures in writing what can feel so elusive in life, and creates a novel that makes one feel "cozy."

I've forced a half dozen other friends to read the first few chapters, and each one of them laughs and relates to how familiar it feels (whether their lives are like Abbott's or not). I'll definitely be checking out more of Chris Bachelder's work.

[Michael · Rating 4 out of 5]

"The following propositions are both true: (A) Abbott would not, given the opportunity, change one significant element of his life, but (B) Abbott cannot stand his life."

I'm not sure how I came across this novel, but I'm glad I did. It's a little gem of a book whose resonance really sneaks up on you. It's basically a series of about 90 parable-ish vignettes, most 2-3 pages long, that add up to a chronicle of a mercurial professor on summer break named Abbott and his family, a wife very much pregnant and their two-year-old daughter (both unnamed).

Though each episode seems discrete and can be read in any order, as the novel goes on you begin to see connections; one such connection is the recurring anxieties Abbott feels about everything as he trolls the Internet convinced that the world is going to suffer a tragic end, all while he traverses the daily tedium of marriage and fatherhood, and he often comes off as a gloomy fatalist (the quote above comes in a scene where Abbott has spent a blazing afternoon cleaning up raspberry-scented vomit from the back seat). The reader knows better, however. By the time we get to the final scene, it's hard not to see Abbott is happy. And that's another neat trick Bachelder pulls off -- he has written a really smart, touching book about domestic bliss that isn't drenched in irony or unearned sentiment.

Do yourself a favor and support the small presses by seeking this one out.

[Lo vas a leer · Rating 1 out of 5]

No sé si, como dice esa cita extraída del libro, el problema es que no soy padre y no capto esas costumbres y ese idioma propio de la paternidad. Creo que, más bien, es una cuestión de códigos, que no termino de pillarle el puntillo a estas novelas norteamericanas que basan su razón de ser en la encadenación de episodios supuestamente divertidos, como si fueran columnillas de revista cosidas para formar un libro. Tal vez sea cuestión de códigos no compartidos, de referencias tal vez resultonas en la cultura norteamericana, pero que al trasladarlas a mi mundo (no digo ya a la realidad española, sino a la mía propia) me resultan ajenas. El caso es que no engancho con facilidad con este tipo de libros. Aquí, por ejemplo, sobre qué hacer con el pelo que le acabas de cortar por primera vez a la niña, dónde guardar los periódicos viejos o cómo pasarse el día planchando ropita de bebé y colocando juguetes. El libro narra las vacaciones de Abbott, profesor universitario que vive un verano lejos de su trabajo y comprometido con las tareas del hogar. Intuyo que el libro quiere contar cómo cambian las prioridades vitales en determinado momento, cómo la paternidad cambia rutinas y ambiciones. Cómo la pasión se deshilacha para convertirse en cariño. O rutina. Algo de eso quiero ver en esta sucesión de minicapítulos que lees de un tirón, con la esperanza de que el próximo eleve la mirada y ofrezca algo mejor. Al final terminas el libro con la sensación de una espera vacía. Vamos: que no.

[PAP · Rating 4 out of 5]

Take warning if you're a neurotic parent; this will disturb you, as it hones in on your fears and worries and parental ennui. I felt at one point as if the author had sliced my brain open and peered in at what I was thinking while watching an old video of one of my kids. Chilling.

This is a fair book and I think it best summed up in a paraphrase: I wouldn't change a thing about my life, but I hate it.

Adjusting to life with a child is difficult, challenging, exhausting, frustrating, maddening, etc. That's because you have a new, different life and it involves making yourself "play blocks" or feign excited interest for hours while your child shows you he or she can jump on one foot. Although your body is occupied, your mind is not. And that's prime nesting area for neuroses to grow.

The title, I felt, couldn't have been more appropriate. As parents, we're waiting. We're waiting for life to change, to feel different, for our freedom to be returned. We hate being in this state. But we'd never change it. But we hate it.

So honest and readable that although it pained me to read some of it, I give it a full 4 1/2 stars.

[T. Greenwood · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved this book. Every vignette was like a perfect little prose poem, each of them building one upon the other, culminating in a tiny powerhouse of a novel. Bachelder makes the domestic and mundane transcendent. In one chapter, Abbott imagines the unimaginable...that his napping toddler has died in her sleep. In just a few pages, we play with him this awful game of what-if, feeling all his anxiety and fear and, finally, relief. In another, the disconnection between Abbott and his wife is illustrated by the wife's failure to mention that she has been buying the family's tomatoes at a roadside stand. We feel his jealousy, loneliness, and even sense of betrayal. And it's funny too! (See the cat pee chapter: genius.) The simple ponderings of a professor/father in the last trimester of his wife's pregnancy become poignant ruminations on marriage, fatherhood, childhood, life and death. So very happy I found this one. What a gem.

[Michael Pronko · Rating 5 out of 5]

Very comic and beautiful prose. Bachelder has a way of describing the minute details of life, both internal and external life, that holds up everything to wonder. His characters are believable in their faultiness, and admirable in their confused nobility. Genuinely ironic and comic works like this are too few and far between.

[Kim · Rating 4 out of 5]

A professor's account of his summer break in which he spends time around his house, with his toddler and pregnant wife. So compelling in it's simplicity, Abbott is such a real, lovable main character, and his life often feels very relatable. Really enjoyed this one, I laughed, I cried, I felt like he really got it!

[Kate Racculia · Rating 5 out of 5]

A novel of thoughts and experiences, images and senses, anxieties and absurdities, captured for a moment and released. Just like life.

[Sarah Obsesses over Books & Cookies · Rating 5 out of 5]

Cute little scenes of a summer about a man named Abbott as he lives his life with his toddler daughter and very pregnant wife. Cute, smart, clever and just loved it.

[Martin · Rating 4 out of 5]

There's not an AI-enhanced, high-tech drone targeting system in the U.S. military anywhere near as precise as Chris Bachelder. The guy is an unbelievable emotional assassin -- striking deep in the tenderest and most hidden sites of my psyche. How he can find, identify and reach all the shame, guilt and confusion of young parenthood is a testament to his sensitivity -- oh, and also I feel terrible for him. To be able not just to recognize these feelings but also to describe them so intricately is a gift... but it also has to be a terrible burden. I guess I appreciate his ability to put these feelings into writing on behalf of me (and us all?). (It's like The Lottery by Shirley Jackson.)

I really enjoyed this slight, slender book even as it was hard to read at times. It's less a novel (character, setting, plot, development) than a series of almost twitter-style, basically unconnected observations. They all cut to the bone, but it's like going to a batting cage vs playing an actual baseball game. He's ripping homer after homer, sure, but he's also never playing the field or running the bases. It's just hit after hit after hit. After a certain point even titanic homers get exhausting and monotonous. It's a testament to his skill that the whole thing was as readable as it was.

My one nit (you know I have to pick at least one!) was his over-reliance on a certain narrative trick to end these observation/short stories -- which I'll call the "non-binary" ending. My parody version: "After ruminating and self-castigating for about half a page, Abbott put the sandwich down on the table, where his daughter either did or did not eat it." He gets a little high on his own supply and deploys this construction in what I would say is too high a percentage of these stories. Listen, if I see something I have to say something.

Ultimately it's an incredible collection of writing that practically unraveled my brain it was so astute (and upsetting). He's definitely a writer unlike any other writer I've enjoyed. I'm insanely curious what he will do next.

[Roy Kesey · Rating 5 out of 5]

Very fun, very wise, very tight focus on a guy trying to be a good dad/husband/human. The following review (in the form of a review of a movie that doesn't yet exist based on a book that does) first ran in Trop:

Director: Paul Thomas Anderson; Cast: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Maya Rudolph, Philip Baker Hall, John C. Reilly, Melora Walters, Michael Penn, Luis Guzmán, Ricky Jay, Burt Reynolds, Julianne Moore, Alfred Molina, William H. Macy; Adapted from the novel by Chris Bachelder

(To see the official Abbott Awaits poster, click here.)

There are so very many ways for bad movies to come of good books, and so many of those ways have to do with distance: that is, with directors too insecure to stretch away from the text even when the new medium demands it, or too daft to realize they have wandered off the text’s most essential paths. Making a great movie from a great book, on the other hand, requires an unbroken chain of small miracles—which is why so few such things exist. And yet and yet and yet: here now before us is Paul Thomas Anderson’s magnificent adaptation of the timeless Chris Bachelder novel Abbott Awaits.

The book itself was published to widespread critical acclaim; in the words of TNYRB literary critic Mateo Campana, “There is in this world only one marriage, and all of us live it, and this novel is its definitive account.” Sam Lipsyte called it “a sly and soaring novel about fear and tenderness and family,” and Keith Lee Morris alleged Bachelder to have invented an entirely new genre known as “Existential Domestic Cosmology.” It is perhaps a surprise that a director best known for his hyperkinetic camerawork and large ensemble casts should have chosen this seemingly small, quiet project—particularly now, when wise-hearted looks at marriage seem most often relegated to the small screen, whether as drama (think Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton as Eric and Tami Taylor on Friday Night Lights) or as comedy (say, Ty Burrell and Julie Bowen as Phil and Claire Dunphy on Modern Family). But as it turns out, Existential Domestic Cosmology is a genre in which Anderson feels entirely at home.

The central casting dilemma for Abbott Awaits was neatly solved by turning to the most consistently brilliant member of Anderson’s informal rep company: Philip Seymour Hoffman. Hoffman’s many-shaded silences and unusually animated expressions (he reportedly lost forty pounds for the jowl-less role) allow Anderson to sidestep the distasteful consequences, all too common in adaptations, of excessive (i.e. any) reliance on voice-over. Riskier was Anderson’s decision to cast Maya Rudolph—his real-life life partner and the mother of his four children—as Abbott’s wife. Rudolph steers clear of SNL-style mugging and Bridesmaids pratfalls, coming through splendidly as an intelligent, conflicted, complicated woman searching for her share of grace. The cast is rounded out by the usual subjects acquitting themselves well in smaller-than-usual parts. We have Philip Baker Hall as a creepily intense pet store owner, and John C. Reilly as an obtuse but well-meaning neighbor; Melora Walters and Michael Penn as scientists researching fireflies, and Luis Guzmán as a refrigerator repairman; Ricky Jay as chief of staff at the butterfly conservatory, a spry and clean-shaven Burt Reynolds as a plumber, Julianne Moore as an obstetrician, and Alfred Molina as an unforgettable anesthesiologist.

The film’s scenes tend to run shorter than Anderson usually works, but his infamously long tracking shots function perfectly as a form of directorial patience: they allow him to explore nook after cranny in the life of Abbott, a university professor off work for the summer and thus home for the last three months of his insomniac wife’s pregnancy with their second child. Abbott spends much of his time cleaning up after their toddler daughter, scrubbing ancient raisins off of high chairs and raspberry vomitus out of car seats. He wrestles rolls of cat-sprayed carpet out to the curb, succeeds as often as he fails in attempts to deal with household emergencies, and spends his scarce free moments on the internet looking up obscure trivia, diagnosing himself with diseases he does not actually have, and forcing himself to confront the suffering of others: he clicks on link after link, finding his way to photographs of children disfigured by Chernobyl, to footage of what appears to be a weeping fetus, to interviews held with the families of trapped miners, all so as to incline himself (sincerely if artificially) toward the gratefulness he knows he should feel for the life he has.

Hoffman’s acting chops are well up to the task of endowing Abbott’s many internal paradoxes (“Abbott is not a prude about porn. Or, to put it another way, he is a prude about porn.” / “Abbott would like to think he’s a good guy, and yet his wife is up there sobbing, and he’s down here with the superglue.” / “The following prepositions are both true: (A) Abbott would not, given the opportunity, change one significant element of his life, but (B) Abbott cannot stand his life.” / “What kind of fool would cherish this? What kind of fool would not cherish this?”) with precisely the clarity and humor and genuine affect found in the source material. This is not to say, of course, that Anderson never veers from the novel, but when he does, it is in wholly justifiable ways: the story makes fully as much sense in his beloved San Fernando Valley as it did in Bachelder’s western Massachusetts, and if you’ll permit me the smallest of spoilers, the narrative is actually strengthened when Anderson, unlike Bachelder, allows Abbott and his wife to finally go ahead and buy the couch they’ve spent the whole movie searching for. (The fact that they buy it from a show-stealing William H. Macy makes the scene all the more satisfying.)

Nonetheless, the movie as a whole would likely have failed without strong work by Anderson’s crew, particularly cinematographer Robert Elswit and set designer Conny Boettger. In perhaps the most notable example, a single silent take renders up every nuance of Bachelder’s phrasing: following Abbott’s painful fall on his way up the basement stairs, we see “(t)he shirts (…) strewn, as if they had grappled at the top and then tumbled down. Their backs look broken. A blue one has an arm outstretched, as if trying to break its fall, or to reach for something out of reach.”

Abbott’s constant search for evidence of human nobility, and his struggle to do both good and well within his wholly contemporary life, are in the end invested with as much import as the most transparently Herculean of endeavors. That is to say, he too spends most of his hours and days reaching for things out of reach. It is to this film’s great credit that we never want him doing anything else.

[Rachel Dick Plonka · Rating 5 out of 5]

Zany and fun. A quick light read.

[Bobby · Rating 4 out of 5]

Usually I read fiction as a means of escape, but when I read Abbott Awaits it was like reading a journal of my own thoughts and experiences, grafted onto a fictional character.

Abbott is a modern husband and father. He has a 2-year-old daughter and his wife is pregnant with their second child. Over the course of 90 or so short vignettes, we follow Abbott as he navigates and muses about his role as a parent and as a partner in a marriage that has been inevitably changed as a result of parenthood. When I was reading this book I, too, had a 2-year-old son, Joseph, and my wife was pregnant with our second child. So, I can attest to the pitch-perfect realism of Abbott’s thought processes and his dialogue with his wife and toddler. There are several instances when I would read a passage and think to myself, “Yes! He gets it! Was Chris Bachelder eavesdropping on my conversation with Joseph this morning?” Through Abbott, Chris Bachelder has perfectly articulated what goes through the mind of a man who wants to be a good father and husband but has doubts that he is succeeding. This quote from the back of the book sums it up nicely:

Abbott’s pensive self-doubt comes to a head one day in late June as he cleans vomited raspberries out of his daughter’s car seat and realizes: “The following propositions are both true: (A) Abbott would not, given the opportunity, change one significant thing about his life, but (B) Abbott cannot stand his life.”

While Abbott Awaits is written from a male standpoint, there are numerous observations, sometimes scary and sometimes funny, about parenthood that will ring true to both men and women. For example, at one point, after his daughter appears to be taking an unusually long nap, Abbott finds himself afraid to go into his daughter’s bedroom to check on her for fear that she might not be breathing. Every new parent is assaulted by worries like this that are often unfounded and unreasonable.

Another example: Abbott is playing with his daughter and he has an idea to teach her how to do a somersault. He gently flips her over on her head and then into a roll to demonstrate. She is pleased and now wants her father to do one. Abbott, wanting to be a fun dad, agrees. However, he hasn’t done a somersault in ages and suddenly isn’t sure that he really remembers how to do one. He manages to do a poor approximation of a somersault and injures himself in the process only to find that, his daughter, whom this display was for, had shifted her attention and had not watched him.

A man does not always know his ultimate acts—the last time he swims in the ocean, the last time he makes love. But at the age of thirty-seven, perhaps the mid-point of his one and only life, Abbott knows that he has attempted his final somersault.

For me, five years later, both of my children have grown out of their toddler phases and I have become fully confident in my ability as a parent. However, I still enjoy opening Abbott Awaits to a random page and smiling as I read and remember that time in my life. Smiling, not only because of Chris Bachelder’s brilliant and witty prose but, more importantly, because my wife and I successfully made it through those uncertain years and things have turned out better than we could have imagined.

[Eric · Rating 5 out of 5]

I usually read books to escape. It never really occurred to me that I would want to read a book that was essentially about my life. But one important realization I've made about parenthood is that solidarity is key.

I picked up this book for two reasons. One, Chris Bachelder's first book, "Bear vs. Shark" sort of changed my life. The book was entertaining and it also happens to be one of the main reasons I have not had a TV in my home for over half a decade. Two, I read the following representative quote, a peek into Abbott's mind as he cleans up his young daughter's raspberry vomit: "The following propositions are both true: (A) Abbott would not, given the opportunity, change one significant element of his life, but (B) Abbott cannot stand his life."

This novel has no discernible plot. It's a day by day account of Abbott's summer in a sleepy Massachusetts university town as he watches his 2-year-old daughter and contends with a very pregnant, insomniac wife. It's wonderful. It's terrible. It perfectly encapsulates my life right now.

As a 30-something father of two young children, some of Abbott's experiences are so uncannily similar to my own that it's like Bachelder has been spying on my house. One chapter describes the nightly ritual of yelling at a light sensitive toddler puzzle that makes jungle noises as soon as the light is turned off. Been there. Accumulating an amazing variety of tools, yet never actually having the right one for what you need to do right now--also been there. And it's not just incidents, it's thoughts. I feel like Bachelder has made it OK for me to love my life, but also not feel badly about those moments when I'd rather be doing pretty much anything else. That sounds awful as I write it, but I think a lot of dads can relate. In fact, I'm going to force this book on every father of young children I know. I think anybody could read it and enjoy it, but this is a very real look into the mind of a middle-aged father. There's lots of books for moms. Not so much for dads. This one is pitch perfect.

[Mark · Rating 5 out of 5]

Truly, a perfect novel of manly interiority. The narrative shell is simple: Abbott, some minor professor or teacher, is home for the summer caring for his little daughter and expectant wife. Within this framework Abbott ponders, meanders, and wonders while noting with quiet humor the everday challenges of the parent of a small child. Abbott also meditates on how marriage works:

"Like many others before him, Abbott discovers, once married, that marriage is a battle—clinically, a negotiation—over the possession of the Bad Mood. A marriage, especially a marriage with children, cannot function properly if both its constituents are in foul temper, thus the Bad Mood is a privilege only one spouse can enjoy at a time. Who gets to be in a Bad Mood? This is the day-to-day struggle. In the Perfect Union, the Bad Mood is traded equitably, like child care or household chores. There is joint custody of the Bad Mood. If one spouse is grumpy for an entire weekend, the other spouse might take the Mood for the workweek. If one spouse is low-spirited during that unpleasant stretch from Christmas to the New Year, the other spouse might claim Thanksgiving, Easter, and the Fourth of July. In the typical marriage, however, one spouse tends to possess the Bad Mood disproportionately. This is called Hogging the Mood."

In another passage, Abbott sees in his roof gutter a rather alarming metaphor:

"The rain gutter is an apt synecdoche of domestic existence: From the ground it appears practical, functional, well conceived. But when you stand on a borrowed ladder and peer into it, you realize what a gutter is. A gutter is a flimsy trough of sludge, secured by rusty hardware. Rainwater is not so much channeled and diverted as collected and absorbed. All along the front of his house Abbott is alternately repulsed and terrified."

An absolutely pitch-perfect novel, full of observations both hilarious and touching--highly recommended.

[Matt · Rating 4 out of 5]

I really loved U.S. and thought a lot of-- and about-- Bear v. Shark, but this one almost passed right by me. If there was any press or reviews for this book, any of my friends reading it and talking about it, I missed it. But then, I think it might be the kind of novel that does risk being overlooked, forgotten, or just ignored.

The book is composed of three sections, June, July, August, with one section for each of day of the months in question. Abbot is, sort of transparently, Bachelder himself, teaching at U Mass and enjoying the summer before school starts and his wife has their second child. He spends a lot of time with the couple's first kid, a two year old daughter. He does domestic things-- cleans out the basement, goes for walks, notices what cars are missing hubcaps, surfs the internet, and worries, a lot, about the world, in an often funny and occasionally obsessive way. Most sections are a page or two, and then we're onto something else.

And I think that might explain some of the silence surrounding this book-- when I read it, I had these flashes of recognition, or else glimmers of delight at something new, but then you're onto the next thing, and the book never slows down or develops much. I do feel like I understand Abbot better, and I sure appreciate his delight at the birth of his second daughter and his love for his first. But he grows from being an obsessive potential crank, who was really interesting in his extreme opinions, into a character altogether more cuddly and less likely to capture my thoughts for a long period of time. I'd rather live beside or share an office with the Abbot of August 31, but the Abbot of June 1 might be a more compelling subject for a novel.

So, an accomplished, well-written, heartfelt book about fatherhood, worry, etc, but maybe not one that I'll return to, at least as a novel, again and again, as much as some sections deserve being re-read.

[Dixie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Chris Bachelder’s Abbot Awaits is a very enjoyable journey through the ordinary daily routine of Abbott. Abbott is a university teacher who is spending his summer break at home with his 2-year-old daughter and his wife who is pregnant with their second child. The reader is taken through a slice of Abbott’s life everyday from June 1st through August 31st. Each short chapter in the book represents one day in Abbott’s life. Unremarkable everyday events are chronicled in a manner that makes them seem sometimes dreadfully mundane and sometimes clearly enjoyable for Abbott.

What is Abbott awaiting? The birth of his second child? His return to teaching in the fall? A more spectacular life? I think Abbott is awaiting all of these things, and yet, deep down he is mostly content with his life.

I found myself chuckling often while reading Abbott Awaits. I think anyone involved in a relationship with a spouse/partner will enjoy the subtleties of Abbott’s relationship with his wife. A parent will find enjoyment in Abbott’s relationship with his daughter. This book can be read as slow as a chapter a day or as fast as the entire book in a day. I rarely feel like I want to read a book more than once, but I think I could read this numerous times and find additional nuances each time. This novel is highly recommended. I look forward to reading more from Bachelder.

Disclosure: I received a free e-galley of Abbot Awaits by Chris Bachelder from the publisher, LSU Press.

[Adriana · Rating 4 out of 5]

I've read other stories told in vignettes, and it is not my favorite type of narrative. However, I don't think there is another way this particular story could have been told. The detachment we feel toward Abbott gives us a better sense of what he's feeling than a straightforward narrative would. And even while he seems to wander through his days, not always feeling like he's part of it, there were still moments of exceptional tenderness and incredible sweetness, which give us the sense that perhaps Abbott is not in the grips of as severe a funk as he would have us believe.

The segment entitled Abbott Hogs the Mood made me laugh, while Abbott's Folk Remedy and Abbott's Inadvertent Research on Prepositions were among the more tender illustrations.

Each segment is short, making it an even quicker read than one would expect at 180 pages, but it does not need to be read all at once. The structure of the book sets it up so you can read one section or several, and then set the book aside for a while until you want to pick it up again. I don't think a reader will lose the thread if it takes a month or two to read.

[Jade Eby · Rating 2 out of 5]

Originally published at my blog Chasing Empty Pavements

The Good: I can certainly appreciate when an author experiments with a different ways to tell a story. I haven't really seen a book that operates in the way Abbott Awaits does.It's like a mixture of stream of consciousness yet told in third person. It's very crafty. I found Abbott to be funny and enlightening at times, but he also shows exactly what a lot of fathers go through with a young child and another baby on the way.

The Bad: This book came very highly recommended and I was so excited to read it. But...it just didn't quite live up to my expectations. While I thought the storytelling was cool, I just couldn't get into it. I didn't like the short chapters or the way it feel so damn depressing and hypocritical. He loves his life by he hates his life. Well which is it? This book was just not my cup of tea but I would recommend checking it out for the style of writing by Chris Bachelder.

**I received this book free from the publisher through www.netgalley.com. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own

[Steve · Rating 5 out of 5]

Reading Abbott Awaits, Chris Bachelder’s third novel, felt eerily familiar at times, like reading the inside of my head. The book follows its titular character—first or last name, we don’t know—one single-day chapter at a time through his summer break from teaching at a state university, during which he watches his two year-old daughter, awaits the birth of a second child, and lives a life of lawn-mowing, of frustrating and being frustrated by his wife, and taking care of small tasks around town. The university is the one I attended, so the town is one where I lived and to which I would gladly return, and I, too, spend summers watching my daughter between semesters as “an untenured humanist.” So as Abbott visits the landmarks of Massachusetts’ Pioneer Valley, including the “pet food store that is also a soft drink outlet,” I may well be reading an alternate version of my own life...

[Read the full review at Necessary Fiction ]

[Caroline · Rating 5 out of 5]

A quietly funny, closely-observed novel about the everyday life of a father. Abbott, a university professor, lives with his bright two-year-old daughter, his insomniac pregnant wife, and an anxious dog. There are moments -- like when Abbott stands in the driveway, cleaning the highchair with a hose -- that make me laugh out loud: "He blasts the highchair so hard it rocks back on two plastic wheels. Desiccated raisins fly like shrapnel." Other moments accent the pleasure of reading a writer who gets it: "Abbott approaches sleep with an ineffable sense of relief that he did not know, before having a child, what it was like to have a child -- did not really know what it was really like -- because if he had known before having a child how profoundly strenuous and self-obliterating it is to have a child, he never would have had a child, and then, or now, he would not have this remarkable child. Abbott's wife, were she here, might say that it doesn't quite make sense. Abbott might rub her hip lightly with the back of his hand. 'That's the thing,' he might say."