I’d never heard of Jeffry Lewis, but I saw this novel on the shelf at R.J. Julia’s bookstore, was interested by the subtitle and started reading it, then had to buy it. I buy too many books, and I was already in the middle of three other novels, but I found myself putting them aside and finishing this in three evenings.
It’s an engaging consideration of what’s happened to the ordinary people who make up most of America in the age of global capitalism. Lewis avoids despair—he focuses mostly on the characters who find some way to struggle on. But it’s fairly clear there will be more who don’t make it. It’s not as depressing as I think I’m making it sound here—-but almost.
There is a tendency to shift the causal explanation from actual economic forces to personal limitiations—if one character hadn’t commited one minor crime, things might have turned out differently, and the one who suffers the most happens to be mentally challenged...that kind of thing. But still, he avoids the fairly-tale happy ending.
Lewis does seem to be genuinely puzzled by the ability of people to do repetitive and mindless menial labour day after day, which suggests he’s probably never had to do it. But he doesn’t make the factory workers out to be hopelessly subhuman, as so often happens in novels on this subject.
A nice surprise, and I’ll look for another of Lewis’s novels when I finish the three I’m reading now.