I never read a Theroux novel that I didn’t absolutely love, until this one. Interesting events happen to Joe Sharkey, lifetime solitary surfer and champion, but as for Joe himself? He just didn’t come across as all that compelling. In fact, I found him rather unexciting and tedious. Theroux has a way with the English language--a linguistically flexible mind capable of thrilling the adamant reader; but, surfer Joe here, and his tale, was rather frustrating and redundant, with some hot spots that started to pull me in, but stopped short of embracing me. Theroux's authenticity in portraying Hawaiian culture and vernacular gave the story some rich color and tapestry, but, in the end, the tale didn’t take off for me, although I had some heartfelt moments with it.
I learned quite a bit about surfing—a singular passion for some people--and where the finest waves reside. Waimea, in the Noth Shore of Oahu, is a surfer’s paradise (there are many surfer rendezvous in Hawaii, of course). There’s an entire vocabulary--very physical and metaphorical--that describe not just the waves, but also one’s body on the board, riding in the surf. Although I don’t surf, I am an active and ardent swimmer, and the ocean (or any body of water, but the ocean especially) is like a second skin. I’m more comfortable in the water than walking on land. Joe Sharkey is, too. Along the way, his parents may have aided and abetted Joe’s single-minded determination. His mother stayed drunk and insipid after the death of his military father, who was stationed in Vietnam, and taught Joe, “Consider yourself already dead, and you’ll be fine.”
In fact, on land one night, at the age of 62, as Sharkey discovers he is gradually becoming a has-been, he accidentally runs into a man on a bicycle, and kills him, while his 30-something girlfriend, Olive, is in the car. His karma is run over by his dogma at that point, and his life becomes one miserable day after another. A subsequent tragic event that would have convinced me to flat-out leave Joe for good actually strengthens Olive’s resolve to save Sharkey from thorough depravity and decline. She’s selfless, sensitive, and nurturing (a nurse who is beloved by staff and patients), and I wish that Theroux had mined her character more than he did.
Who are we, as a person? Joe has always been a legend and a raconteur, embellishing so many surfing stories and achievements in his life that it is difficult to pick apart the truth from exaggeration--even for him. His friendship with the equally grandiose Hunter S. Thompson adds a little spice to the story, although its poignancy is a nuanced thread to untangle closer to the denouement. Ironic that Joe has never read a book—and brags about it. He has one interest and one interest only--surfing. That may make him alluring to surfers, but it got a bit boring for me, as I wrestled with impatience for Joe to wake the fuck up. As he becomes tedious and redundant, I lost interest in him. You have to be willing to be in Joe's head for 416 pages. I went there, but it wasn't easy.
After the incident, Joe starts deteriorating, to the point of either madness or dementia. He utters, repeatedly, “I ran into a drunk, homeless guy,” refusing to acknowledge that he killed the man, or that the man has an identity beyond drunk and homeless. In a desperate act to save him, Olive attempts to uncover the victim’s name, as yet unknown. Even when he kills the poor man, the local cops on the scene are more impressed about meeting the legend, Joe Sharkey, than about the fate of the man on the bike.
The narrative takes us back and forth, nonlinearly, through crucial traumas and events in Joe’s life—saga-like, an anti-hero’s journey, episodes that weave together over the course of the novel. His character was drawn well, although many of the secondary and tertiary characters seemed flat. If you can deep dive into Joe Sharkey’s life, and find an emotional connection, you will be more likely to engage. There were universal aspects of the story and its themes of mortality and redemption, and absolutely stunning figures of speech about the ocean, water, the waves, and surfing.
“He learned to predict from the swell what a wave would do, by studying a break, reading it thoroughly, the inner life of its push, as if each length of wave were a line of poetry, each set a stanza, with its internal rhythm, so that he could insert himself into it, not waiting for the wave to accommodate him but something deeper, meeting it on his terms, finding harmony, becoming the wave."
3.4 stars