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After the Workshop
Life is hard for a literary wunderkind after a decade of writer’s block in this “ribald deconstruction . . . of an industry in love with its own absurdities” ( Kirkus Reviews ). You graduate from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop with a short story published in The New Yorker and subsequently Best American Short Stories . You stay in town and work on your novel. And work on your novel. Until, finally, twelve years have passed . . . and you are working as a media escort for author tours and your unfinished novel sits in a box under your bed. Now your girlfriend has left you. Your car is missing a muffler. Your neighbor is walking around naked because his hands are bandaged and he can’t unzip his pants. You are at the whims of a slew of increasingly unhinged writers, and when one of them disappears, an insane New York publicist begins stalking you. This is the life of Jack Hercules Sheahan, a character well understood by author John McNally. McNally is also a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop as well as a former media escort, and these misadventures are brought to life by his very own. Recalling the wry humor of novels by Nick Hornby and Michael Chabon, After the Workshop tells the satirical story of a writer who confronts the demons from his past while escorting those of his present.
320 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2010
9 people are currently reading
434 people want to read
About the author
John McNally
52 books99 followersJohn McNally is the author of three novels (After the Workshop, America's Report Card and The Book of Ralph) and two story collections (Ghosts of Chicago and Troublemakers). He's written two books on writing: Vivid and Continuous: Essays and Exercise for Writing Fiction and The Creative Writer's Survival Guide: Advice from an Unrepentant Novelist He's edited six fiction anthologies, on subjects ranging from superheroes to baseball. He also writes screenplays and held a Chesterfield Writer's Film Project fellowship, sponsored by Paramount Pictures. A native of Chicago's southwest side, he presently lives and teaches in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 80 reviews
September 10, 2016
Jack Sheahan is a writer and media escort. Unfortunately, he's been terminally blocked on his novel-in-progress for ten years, and is living a lonely existence in the same apartment where he spent his student years. The central question of his life is why he hasn't killed himself before now.
In the course of a few days, Jack will confront his own inner demons as well as virtually every caricature and archetype of the literary world - the bitchy, cutthroat publicist; scheming grad students; pompous, overrated authors; frauds cashing in on fads; and critically acclaimed postmodernist twits. Throughout the book, Jack carries the burden of his own unfulfilled potential like a sack of stones threatening to drag him beneath the surface of his life. Ultimately, he must find a way to let go and start anew or be stuck in place and time forever.
McNally's novel has interesting things to say about the curse and blessing of being a writer, and what constitutes "success" in the literary world. The writing is witty and darkly humorous; the characters are vivid and memorable. As in all of McNally's work, a strong heartbeat and the prospect of redemption can be found beneath the dark humor.
In the course of a few days, Jack will confront his own inner demons as well as virtually every caricature and archetype of the literary world - the bitchy, cutthroat publicist; scheming grad students; pompous, overrated authors; frauds cashing in on fads; and critically acclaimed postmodernist twits. Throughout the book, Jack carries the burden of his own unfulfilled potential like a sack of stones threatening to drag him beneath the surface of his life. Ultimately, he must find a way to let go and start anew or be stuck in place and time forever.
McNally's novel has interesting things to say about the curse and blessing of being a writer, and what constitutes "success" in the literary world. The writing is witty and darkly humorous; the characters are vivid and memorable. As in all of McNally's work, a strong heartbeat and the prospect of redemption can be found beneath the dark humor.
February 5, 2017
This book is one of my favorites, so I just re-read it for the first time in several years. I wondered if it would hold up, if I would laugh out loud again, if I would want to cry again at the plight of the novel's narrator, the lovable Jack Sheahan. In fact, I did laugh and cry and this time around, I could relate in a way that really resonates with me. Jack, after all, finds himself as the novel opens living in Iowa as a media escort while his novel gathers dust in a box. He's a graduate of the famous Iowa Writer's Workshop, as the title suggests, but has not left despite having graduated 12 or 14 years ago. When one of Jack's authors disappears before her reading and another author shows up wanting to rent Jack's couch, Jack begins to inventory his dreams and wonders exactly what he is living for. I can't tell you how many times I laughed hysterically at the antics of Jack and his friends, but the novel manages to balance the humor with gravitas, which makes for an entertaining and serious read. Best of both worlds. I recommend the book for readers of literary fiction, but especially for writers.
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September 30, 2011[A note: I’ve been sitting on this post for weeks—and, incidentally, taking the book with me to bed to obsess over sentences and scenes. This novel has fast become one of my favorite reads. Evahr. I shall squeal, and then elaborate. Because, man, I want everyone to read this book.]
After the Workshop by John McNally is one of this life’s little joys. It was fast-paced, a compulsive read–truth: stayed up all night reading it, even though I wasn’t supposed to on account of that flu (and my grandmother checked in on me once because I was laughing at ungodly hours). The language was clear, precise, and at times poignant. See, it’s funny, sarcastic, biting–but when you least expect it, it turns around and gives you an emotional whammy right in the gut. I love that: you’re minding your own business, thinking this will strictly be a laugh-out-loud book, and then you find yourself faltering, looking up from it, thinking about your own didn’t-quite-work-out-the-way-you-planned-it life. Huh. The novel shook me.
Our hero Jack Hercules Sheahan (yeah, real name) is a media escort–a literary escort to authors on book tours. Well, he’s a writer–though he finds even that term dubious: he used to be The Next Best Thing, or at least at the cusp of something awesome: then-fresh from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, published in The New Yorker and then included in The Best American Short Stories. And then, well, it went nowhere. A series of circumstances, a whole lot of self-doubt taken in stride, a life-whammy here and there, a naked neighbor, a lot of crazy writers later–and we join Jack, still in Iowa, in a quest to rediscover what he wants with his writing, and what the hell he can do to that novel that’s been, for years, in a box under his bed. So now he shuttles authors on tour around Iowa–authors he should’ve been, if only, if only. Oh, the pain.
It’s a fascinating study and an engaging satire of the publishing world, a nudge-nudge wink-wink kind of thing: its figures, its darlings, its icons, its peons. Some are archetypal, but there’s a pleasure in being privy into an inside joke–there’s a lot of play of images and roles, what reputations stand for, what success ultimately means, and all the other baggage that comes with being a writer. It’s the private space bleeding into the public–the same way Jack’s a novel-in-a-box writer who has to play nanny to more successful authors. The characters are well-written and complex and all shades between amusing and sad—yes, even the literary archetypes and those crazies. It’s a who’s who of figures, some laughable, some just sad. The assorted cast carry their own, and they manage to make us both laugh and go, Aww. You’re tempted to play a guessing game, and that did amuse me, but, ultimately, it’s about Jack.
I fell in love with Jack (and, yes, I know that sounds creepy). He’s unbelievably funny, with just the right dash of bitterness and self-deprecation. He’s woefully aware of his situation, but unaware as to what he should do about it. Dude’s life has been meandering through the alleys of Iowa, dodging obstacles, slipping into bars, pointedly avoiding his stalled novels. It’s like a modern-day quest–with poetry readings, bars, hospitals, bookstores, and characters weaving in and out of Jack’s madcap world (crazy mentor? alcoholic weight lifters? romance novelists?). There’s that serendipitous discovery about many things; there’s a slaying of dragons, to rid of a life entrenched in insecurities and ruts and inertia. Basically, just living a life again.
That’s what hit me with this book. I was laughing hysterically, and then I had to stop because the poignancy just overtook me. Yes, McNally is making fun of the publishing world and all its facades–but it’s Jack’s life we watch for, inevitable examinations of what a damned thing writing is, why we’re bogged down by expectations we fail to live up to.
Early on in its all-nighter reading, the novel easily became a very personal book. Aside from the fact that I was liking it exponentially with every turn of the page—from merely looking at that gorgeous cover to its sigh-worthy end—the book was a chillingly familiar read. I cringed at the parallelisms I found in my life, in my own doubts about this stupid little thing called writing (I was, at 17, part of a workshop years ago, have been in school for the longest time trying to get my Creative Writing degree, and I haven’t written anything in so long, it’s laughable. Of course, this isn’t in the scale of Jack’s experiences, but damn it, the fear and self-doubt must resemble? [Sorry for the autobiographical diarrhea.]) Am I whining? Is Jack Sheahan whining? See what I did there? Anyway, it mattered so much to me because I recognized it: it was equal parts thought-provoking and horror story. I recognized people here, and in some very haunting cases (usually right after I’ve laughed like a madwoman), I recognized myself.
McNally’s novel had me scrambling to face my notebook. And, hell, this book even makes fun of Moleskines. Beyond the pure awesomeness of this book, beyond being grateful that he wrote a book that made for a great reading experience–I’d like to thank John McNally for writing this book because it’s stirred things in me. By verbalizing ideas and actualities few people would dare touch–and with such wit–After the Workshop struck a chord. If the author believed in The Possible Reader–well, hello, I’m the perfect one. Admit it, you wrote this for me. :| Har.
I was trying to tell a friend how awesome this book was and he said, “So it’s a writer’s book?” And I grinned and nodded. He grinned back. He gets me. Being “a writer’s book” is not a bad thing, hell it’s a fantastic thing IMO. Will this alienate non-writers/non-MFAers? I don’t know. But it shouldn’t. See, After the Workshop is, above all, a novel of heart. One way to look at it is that it’s an index of literary inside jokes–that’s fine and all fun, but this is so much more. Another way is to regard this as ruminations on the writing life–and isn’t there such a danger for the whole thing to appear narcissistic and masturbatory?–and yes, it is about the writing life (hell, life in general): our failures, what we may think of as failures, how we release ourselves from the weight of our own expectations, how we sway ourselves into a life of inertia. And all that jazz.
I love this book, okay? It was difficult to talk about it. It’s often difficult to talk about the things that matter more, me thinks. Even now I feel like I didn’t do this book justice–or worse, I didn’t do my experience of it justice.
Bah. Haha. Excuse me, but I’m off to pimp out this book. Never mind that, by this blog post’s end, I’m all out of synonyms for awesome.
After the Workshop by John McNally is one of this life’s little joys. It was fast-paced, a compulsive read–truth: stayed up all night reading it, even though I wasn’t supposed to on account of that flu (and my grandmother checked in on me once because I was laughing at ungodly hours). The language was clear, precise, and at times poignant. See, it’s funny, sarcastic, biting–but when you least expect it, it turns around and gives you an emotional whammy right in the gut. I love that: you’re minding your own business, thinking this will strictly be a laugh-out-loud book, and then you find yourself faltering, looking up from it, thinking about your own didn’t-quite-work-out-the-way-you-planned-it life. Huh. The novel shook me.
Our hero Jack Hercules Sheahan (yeah, real name) is a media escort–a literary escort to authors on book tours. Well, he’s a writer–though he finds even that term dubious: he used to be The Next Best Thing, or at least at the cusp of something awesome: then-fresh from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, published in The New Yorker and then included in The Best American Short Stories. And then, well, it went nowhere. A series of circumstances, a whole lot of self-doubt taken in stride, a life-whammy here and there, a naked neighbor, a lot of crazy writers later–and we join Jack, still in Iowa, in a quest to rediscover what he wants with his writing, and what the hell he can do to that novel that’s been, for years, in a box under his bed. So now he shuttles authors on tour around Iowa–authors he should’ve been, if only, if only. Oh, the pain.
It’s a fascinating study and an engaging satire of the publishing world, a nudge-nudge wink-wink kind of thing: its figures, its darlings, its icons, its peons. Some are archetypal, but there’s a pleasure in being privy into an inside joke–there’s a lot of play of images and roles, what reputations stand for, what success ultimately means, and all the other baggage that comes with being a writer. It’s the private space bleeding into the public–the same way Jack’s a novel-in-a-box writer who has to play nanny to more successful authors. The characters are well-written and complex and all shades between amusing and sad—yes, even the literary archetypes and those crazies. It’s a who’s who of figures, some laughable, some just sad. The assorted cast carry their own, and they manage to make us both laugh and go, Aww. You’re tempted to play a guessing game, and that did amuse me, but, ultimately, it’s about Jack.
I fell in love with Jack (and, yes, I know that sounds creepy). He’s unbelievably funny, with just the right dash of bitterness and self-deprecation. He’s woefully aware of his situation, but unaware as to what he should do about it. Dude’s life has been meandering through the alleys of Iowa, dodging obstacles, slipping into bars, pointedly avoiding his stalled novels. It’s like a modern-day quest–with poetry readings, bars, hospitals, bookstores, and characters weaving in and out of Jack’s madcap world (crazy mentor? alcoholic weight lifters? romance novelists?). There’s that serendipitous discovery about many things; there’s a slaying of dragons, to rid of a life entrenched in insecurities and ruts and inertia. Basically, just living a life again.
That’s what hit me with this book. I was laughing hysterically, and then I had to stop because the poignancy just overtook me. Yes, McNally is making fun of the publishing world and all its facades–but it’s Jack’s life we watch for, inevitable examinations of what a damned thing writing is, why we’re bogged down by expectations we fail to live up to.
Early on in its all-nighter reading, the novel easily became a very personal book. Aside from the fact that I was liking it exponentially with every turn of the page—from merely looking at that gorgeous cover to its sigh-worthy end—the book was a chillingly familiar read. I cringed at the parallelisms I found in my life, in my own doubts about this stupid little thing called writing (I was, at 17, part of a workshop years ago, have been in school for the longest time trying to get my Creative Writing degree, and I haven’t written anything in so long, it’s laughable. Of course, this isn’t in the scale of Jack’s experiences, but damn it, the fear and self-doubt must resemble? [Sorry for the autobiographical diarrhea.]) Am I whining? Is Jack Sheahan whining? See what I did there? Anyway, it mattered so much to me because I recognized it: it was equal parts thought-provoking and horror story. I recognized people here, and in some very haunting cases (usually right after I’ve laughed like a madwoman), I recognized myself.
McNally’s novel had me scrambling to face my notebook. And, hell, this book even makes fun of Moleskines. Beyond the pure awesomeness of this book, beyond being grateful that he wrote a book that made for a great reading experience–I’d like to thank John McNally for writing this book because it’s stirred things in me. By verbalizing ideas and actualities few people would dare touch–and with such wit–After the Workshop struck a chord. If the author believed in The Possible Reader–well, hello, I’m the perfect one. Admit it, you wrote this for me. :| Har.
I was trying to tell a friend how awesome this book was and he said, “So it’s a writer’s book?” And I grinned and nodded. He grinned back. He gets me. Being “a writer’s book” is not a bad thing, hell it’s a fantastic thing IMO. Will this alienate non-writers/non-MFAers? I don’t know. But it shouldn’t. See, After the Workshop is, above all, a novel of heart. One way to look at it is that it’s an index of literary inside jokes–that’s fine and all fun, but this is so much more. Another way is to regard this as ruminations on the writing life–and isn’t there such a danger for the whole thing to appear narcissistic and masturbatory?–and yes, it is about the writing life (hell, life in general): our failures, what we may think of as failures, how we release ourselves from the weight of our own expectations, how we sway ourselves into a life of inertia. And all that jazz.
I love this book, okay? It was difficult to talk about it. It’s often difficult to talk about the things that matter more, me thinks. Even now I feel like I didn’t do this book justice–or worse, I didn’t do my experience of it justice.
Bah. Haha. Excuse me, but I’m off to pimp out this book. Never mind that, by this blog post’s end, I’m all out of synonyms for awesome.
July 29, 2016
Wanted something funny/easy after The Sea, the Sea -- this one's pages turned almost on autopilot. Not to workshop it, but it's conventionally structured, with six or so outloud HAs (a funny line about Nathan Englander's author pic), a dozen insightful lines, not-exactly-3D characters other than a Frank Conroy-type and an older reclusive good-natured famous writer. A thinish plot sometimes seemed to exist only to host engaging/enjoyable exposition re: the IC, MFA programs, envy, writer's block -- but all in all worth it to rev up a lil' narrative engine for a trip down memory lane (Bloomington? Dodge?). It's a bitter/satirical POV, so it's an exaggerated, un-earnest depiction of the program (eg, students seemed way too single-mindedly careerist), but it's definitely a fine/friendly depiction of Iowa City from Mickey's to George's and the Foxhead out to the Black Angel.
August 25, 2010
Loved the pacing of the book. Characters are memorable. Funny things ensue.
Although funny things happen, the basis of the book is somewhat of a downer, but mighty powerful. The first few lines capture it well, "Most people fail to recognize the moment they've touched the ceiling of their potential, that point at which they've reached the height of their intellectual prowess or the summit of their popularity. It can happen anywhere, at any point in life...:
I'm too much of an optimist to think that has already happened to me since there still seems like so much more to do in the future, but what if?
Although funny things happen, the basis of the book is somewhat of a downer, but mighty powerful. The first few lines capture it well, "Most people fail to recognize the moment they've touched the ceiling of their potential, that point at which they've reached the height of their intellectual prowess or the summit of their popularity. It can happen anywhere, at any point in life...:
I'm too much of an optimist to think that has already happened to me since there still seems like so much more to do in the future, but what if?
August 25, 2014
I am the custom-made audience for this book. MFA from Columbia. Stuck on a novel. Worked with insufferable publicists. Familiar with the drudgery and lack of respect media escorts get. Primed to laugh at self-conscious, pretentious literary types, writers with undeserved success, the obsessive quest for literary agents. Everything about this book was utterly familiar, and yet I found no joy in reading it. Perhaps I was too familiar. But there was absolutely zero nuance in any of the characters. All of them were stock. The narrator was intensely unlikable. I literally found nothing redeeming in him, even up to the end. The only well-drawn character was the reclusive older writer. I'm almost gutted by my level of disappointment with this book. It's crucial that even the antagonists have one redeeming characteristic for them to be fully human. And the amount of coincidental encounters make this book seem like the setting was a 8x8 foot room, not a medium-sized city, like Iowa City. Also, the thread with Alice, his former fiancee, is not resolved. The way the narrator encounters her for the last time in the book is outright unbelievable. I simply could not suspend disbelief for a book in which, in my case anyway, suspension of disbelief should not even have been necessary. Maybe all the four-star reviews here have to do with the delight we writers take in trying to parse out to which obnoxious writer-of-the-moment this or that pseudonym refers. I also could not believe that his treatment of poets actually evoked compassion in me, rather than laughter. Having gone to school at Columbia University's School of the Arts I am, again, the perfect audience to laugh heartily at the earnestness of poets. But his characterization rang false because it was so exaggerated at every turn. I mean, including a scene in which Naropa students go head to head with Iowa MFA'ers is like shooting fish in a barrel. Too easy, too predictable (down to the poet with the "Janis Joplin hair" and the poet named "Dusty Rhodes" and the unexpected poet located among Iowa City's laboring classes). The only thing I connected with in this book was his treatment of what it feels like to fail.
Damn. I wanted this to be so much better. I just didn't like the writing and I didn't think the farce-like nature of the book held up, even as meta-fiction. I feel that, as a writer, you have to tread that line carefully, where it's just absurd enough to keep the reader engaged, but not so unbelievable that the writer loses faith and begins to feel as if the writer is insulting her intelligence. That's where I was for almost the entire book. Boo.
Damn. I wanted this to be so much better. I just didn't like the writing and I didn't think the farce-like nature of the book held up, even as meta-fiction. I feel that, as a writer, you have to tread that line carefully, where it's just absurd enough to keep the reader engaged, but not so unbelievable that the writer loses faith and begins to feel as if the writer is insulting her intelligence. That's where I was for almost the entire book. Boo.
April 20, 2010
I don't usually even bother listing books I don't like on this site. Most times I don't even finish them. Too many good books, too little time. But this book had such great reviews and I was so disappointed by it, I am breaking my own rule.
There were certainly some funny bits, but there were also some scenes that had no value to plot or character development.
I did not find the characters very original or engaging - none of them. The dialogue was pretty pedestrian.
On the plus side, it was a speedy read fueled by the nearly blank "Part" pages.
I guess I hoped it would be this year's How I Became a Famous Novelist and it just wasn't. Now if you want a book that really does the publishing industry up well, there is my recommendation.
There were certainly some funny bits, but there were also some scenes that had no value to plot or character development.
I did not find the characters very original or engaging - none of them. The dialogue was pretty pedestrian.
On the plus side, it was a speedy read fueled by the nearly blank "Part" pages.
I guess I hoped it would be this year's How I Became a Famous Novelist and it just wasn't. Now if you want a book that really does the publishing industry up well, there is my recommendation.
March 16, 2010
Fantastic, funny and wonderful novel. Jack Sheahan attended the Iowa Writer's Workshop, had a story published in The New Yorker, anthologized in Best American Short Stories- and then nothing, for years. Now he works as a media escort for author tours, airport-fetching visiting writers (achingly perfect New York hipsters, emotionally unstable trauma-memoir types, etc) and over the course of a few blizzardy days, his life spins out of control and towards redemption. I really loved this book and don't think I'm doing it justice here- I laughed, loudly, alone, I read it in one delicious sitting, I ate it up and can't wait to read more from John McNally.
April 28, 2011
McNally once again (as in America's Report Card) sets his story in Iowa City, with a loser of a graduate of the Iowa Writers Workshop. This time the narrator is working as a host for visiting writers on tours to sell their books. It's really just a series of scenes strung together that don't amount to much. I can't imagine why someone who's not a writer or a resident of Iowa City would want to read it; for more effective satire & a more compelling story, with some of the same themes, look to America's Report Card.
August 4, 2017
This book is so bad. I'm sorry, I just wish I had seen a review like this before buying it. It reads like a list of things not to do when writing a novel and there's no joke tied to that fact. No satire. The book has massive typos, plot lines that go no where, the same old cliche metaphors used twice and sometimes three times over, and I'll tell you, not once was I surprised or intrigued with what happened next. Please, please, try a different book. Faulkner, O'Connor, read the people this guy mentions, but read this guy with caution or not at all.
February 26, 2018
Mostly entertaining, but my MFA experience probably rendered this book a bit too familiar for it to be compelling for me. For those who want to learn more about the so-called writers' circle around MFA, it could be a good start.
January 18, 2018
Witty and well written.
April 24, 2018
A bit funny, short enough that I didn't mind it wasn't more funny.
October 3, 2018
Tedious.
January 20, 2019
Thought this was a really solid book with a lot of heart.
May 30, 2020
This will be my favorite book.
August 9, 2021
I found the book a bit chaotic. It did get better towards the end.
August 24, 2011
"Most people fail to recognize the moment they've touched the ceiling of their potential, that point at which they've reached the height of their intellectual prowess or the summit of their popularity. It can happen anywhere, at any point in their life - away at college during a study session the night before a final, or on a high school football field while catching the game winning touchdown. For some poor souls it happens as early as grade school, often inconspicuously: surrounded by friends on the blacktop on the first day back to school, or saying something funny in class that makes even the teacher smile. And then, after that, it's all downhill." (pg. 9)
So begins After the Workshop, a satirical and humorous (and often sad) look at the post-grad life of an Iowa Writers Workshop writer. (No matter that Jack Hercules Sheahan graduated a mere 12 years ago.) After publishing one short story ("The Self Adhesive Postage Stamp") in The New Yorker, Jack's novel-in-progress continues to collect dust while he works as a media escort for writers (mostly of the prima donna variety) visiting Iowa on their book tours.
Jack's encounters and interactions with these writers make up most of the action in this entertaining novel. (Many of them are well known, as McNally isn't afraid of name dropping in a good way. Others are fictitious - I think - which makes one wonder who they really are. As I said in my Sunday Salon post, After the Workshop is like the "You're So Vain" of the literary world.)
Any book that mentions BEA (Book Expo America) and blogs within the first chapter - and the former on the first page - is a book that you know is one that knows its stuff about the writing life. And McNally, who like his character Jack is also a graduate of the prestigious Iowa Writers Workshop and also once worked as a media escort to writers on their book tours, isn't afraid to give his reader a peek into this world that he knows very well. In doing so, he shows us that it isn't as esteemed and glamorous as we might have originally thought.
Amid the bumblings and stumblings of Jack Sheahan's somewhat depressing existance as a wannabe writer escorting less-talented types around town, the reader begins to understand the reasons behind Jack's self-doubt. Just like the frozen landscape of Iowa's prairie, Jack too remains frozen in time.
"We were drunks and crazies, pissers and moaners. But my longing was both deeper and darker than a yearning for barracks. It was a desire to live in a time that I couldn't possibly live in, a wish to meet people at a time in their lives that had already come and gone, a need to be part of history in a way I could no longer be. I suffered from what C.S. Lewis called sehnsucht, an inconsolable longing in my heart for I knew not what. Sometimes, the sehnsucht's grip was too strong, and it was all I could do not to curl up in bed and remain there for weeks on end." (pg. 222-223).
I mentioned in my Sunday Salon post that I was almost scared to review this one because McNally, through Jack Sheahan, appears to be familiar with book blogs. He (the character of Sheahan) refers to leaving comments on blogs early on in the book (as well as being involved in a hostile exchange of opinions on one), as well as offering commentary on who exactly (in Jack's mind) actually writes blogs.
"The younger writers - and even some not so young - maintained lengthy blogs about their writing lives. If a writer didn't have a blog, he or she was being blogged about, often viciously, usually by wannabe writers who wielded their blogs like swords. Part of the appeal of being a writer was the anonymity, but the Internet had pretty much ruined that. Almost always when I read blogs by young fiction writers whose work I admired, I ended up feeling embarrassed for the writer. Frequently, they revealed too much personal information, or they felt compelled to share all of their opinions. There appeared to be no filter between what popped up into their heads and what showed up on their blogs, and I wanted to beg them to reconsider being so public, but instead of dropping emails to them, I simply never read their books again." (pg. 233-234).
Yikes. I'm hoping that this is exclusively the view of Jack Hercules Sheahan, and not John McNally, but it's kind of hard to tell, isn't it?
Regardless, I don't think John McNally needs to worry about my review because after all, I'm a nobody and I liked his book. Granted, it's not the best book I've read all year, but it is entertaining and a fast and funny read, in the dark humor appeal kind of way that made me enjoy The Financial Lives of the Poets and Then We Came to the End. If anything, I thought perhaps there were too many characters in After the Workshop and that at times, the narrative wandered a bit into the campy and farsical arenas.
But you know what? Sometimes campy and farce isn't all bad. Sometimes it is exactly what we need.
So begins After the Workshop, a satirical and humorous (and often sad) look at the post-grad life of an Iowa Writers Workshop writer. (No matter that Jack Hercules Sheahan graduated a mere 12 years ago.) After publishing one short story ("The Self Adhesive Postage Stamp") in The New Yorker, Jack's novel-in-progress continues to collect dust while he works as a media escort for writers (mostly of the prima donna variety) visiting Iowa on their book tours.
Jack's encounters and interactions with these writers make up most of the action in this entertaining novel. (Many of them are well known, as McNally isn't afraid of name dropping in a good way. Others are fictitious - I think - which makes one wonder who they really are. As I said in my Sunday Salon post, After the Workshop is like the "You're So Vain" of the literary world.)
Any book that mentions BEA (Book Expo America) and blogs within the first chapter - and the former on the first page - is a book that you know is one that knows its stuff about the writing life. And McNally, who like his character Jack is also a graduate of the prestigious Iowa Writers Workshop and also once worked as a media escort to writers on their book tours, isn't afraid to give his reader a peek into this world that he knows very well. In doing so, he shows us that it isn't as esteemed and glamorous as we might have originally thought.
Amid the bumblings and stumblings of Jack Sheahan's somewhat depressing existance as a wannabe writer escorting less-talented types around town, the reader begins to understand the reasons behind Jack's self-doubt. Just like the frozen landscape of Iowa's prairie, Jack too remains frozen in time.
"We were drunks and crazies, pissers and moaners. But my longing was both deeper and darker than a yearning for barracks. It was a desire to live in a time that I couldn't possibly live in, a wish to meet people at a time in their lives that had already come and gone, a need to be part of history in a way I could no longer be. I suffered from what C.S. Lewis called sehnsucht, an inconsolable longing in my heart for I knew not what. Sometimes, the sehnsucht's grip was too strong, and it was all I could do not to curl up in bed and remain there for weeks on end." (pg. 222-223).
I mentioned in my Sunday Salon post that I was almost scared to review this one because McNally, through Jack Sheahan, appears to be familiar with book blogs. He (the character of Sheahan) refers to leaving comments on blogs early on in the book (as well as being involved in a hostile exchange of opinions on one), as well as offering commentary on who exactly (in Jack's mind) actually writes blogs.
"The younger writers - and even some not so young - maintained lengthy blogs about their writing lives. If a writer didn't have a blog, he or she was being blogged about, often viciously, usually by wannabe writers who wielded their blogs like swords. Part of the appeal of being a writer was the anonymity, but the Internet had pretty much ruined that. Almost always when I read blogs by young fiction writers whose work I admired, I ended up feeling embarrassed for the writer. Frequently, they revealed too much personal information, or they felt compelled to share all of their opinions. There appeared to be no filter between what popped up into their heads and what showed up on their blogs, and I wanted to beg them to reconsider being so public, but instead of dropping emails to them, I simply never read their books again." (pg. 233-234).
Yikes. I'm hoping that this is exclusively the view of Jack Hercules Sheahan, and not John McNally, but it's kind of hard to tell, isn't it?
Regardless, I don't think John McNally needs to worry about my review because after all, I'm a nobody and I liked his book. Granted, it's not the best book I've read all year, but it is entertaining and a fast and funny read, in the dark humor appeal kind of way that made me enjoy The Financial Lives of the Poets and Then We Came to the End. If anything, I thought perhaps there were too many characters in After the Workshop and that at times, the narrative wandered a bit into the campy and farsical arenas.
But you know what? Sometimes campy and farce isn't all bad. Sometimes it is exactly what we need.
February 5, 2011
Recommended to EVERYBODY who's ever lived in Iowa City. I wish I could recommend it to EVERYBODY in general, but I know some of my enjoyment came from recognizing every single place/person in the story...
That said, the writing really is good. And it got better as I continued reading. There is a scene in the last third of the book where the protagonist visits a B&B with two out-of-towners that made me laugh so hard I started crying. The whole thing is hilarious. Read it. I finished in two sittings. Couldn't stop.
Here are some of my favorite excerpts. I actually dog-eared pages to re-visit... I almost never do that:
The man working at the front desk shut his eyes and nodded. Displays of visible irritation were not uncommon in Iowa City. Nearly everyone in town had an MFA or a PhD, and yet most were relegated to jobs that paid barely above minimum wage. For all I knew, I was probably talking to the next great post-abstract-expressionist.
There are few pleasures quite like walking into an independent bookstore on a snowy evening, and tonight was no exception. Once inside, I stomped my feet and said hello to Eileen, who was working the cash register and had been an employee there before I was a student at the Workshop. Other fellow night travelers had come in from the snow, wearing knit caps and scarves, their gloves tucked into their pockets as they perused the latest New York publishing had to offer. Here we were, all lovers of literature, gathered together on a night straight our of a Dickens novel. I half-hoped to look out the window and see Tiny Tim atop Bob Cratchits's shoulders, but no: All I saw was an undergrad writing SUCK ME in the snow that covered somebody's car while another guy bent over and pressed his ass against the car's front door, hoping for an accurate imprint.
Across the street, at one of the unofficial frat houses, a guy wearing only too-short sweatpants stepped barefoot onto the snow covered porch, walked over to the railing, and spewed a gallon of vomit. He remained bent over, forearms resting on the rail, panting, as steam rose from a snow-draped shrub.
'No,' I said. 'It doesn't really remind me of childhood.'
'Too bad,' S.S. said.
The college boy saw us, wiped his mouth onto his shoulder, then walked back to the front door gingerly on the balls of his feet, as though crossing a bed of hot coals. The letters across the ass of his sweatpants spelled JUICY.
'Shit,' I said when I dropped my keys for the second time. I shouldn't have been driving in the condition I was in, but what could I do? I had challenged a man to a fight, and I was going to show up as I'd promised! The fact that I had challenged this man over the comments section of a blog dedicated to rejections from literary magazines didn't matter.
"I learned how to see cornfields as nature"- T.C. Boyle, on Iowa.
That said, the writing really is good. And it got better as I continued reading. There is a scene in the last third of the book where the protagonist visits a B&B with two out-of-towners that made me laugh so hard I started crying. The whole thing is hilarious. Read it. I finished in two sittings. Couldn't stop.
Here are some of my favorite excerpts. I actually dog-eared pages to re-visit... I almost never do that:
The man working at the front desk shut his eyes and nodded. Displays of visible irritation were not uncommon in Iowa City. Nearly everyone in town had an MFA or a PhD, and yet most were relegated to jobs that paid barely above minimum wage. For all I knew, I was probably talking to the next great post-abstract-expressionist.
There are few pleasures quite like walking into an independent bookstore on a snowy evening, and tonight was no exception. Once inside, I stomped my feet and said hello to Eileen, who was working the cash register and had been an employee there before I was a student at the Workshop. Other fellow night travelers had come in from the snow, wearing knit caps and scarves, their gloves tucked into their pockets as they perused the latest New York publishing had to offer. Here we were, all lovers of literature, gathered together on a night straight our of a Dickens novel. I half-hoped to look out the window and see Tiny Tim atop Bob Cratchits's shoulders, but no: All I saw was an undergrad writing SUCK ME in the snow that covered somebody's car while another guy bent over and pressed his ass against the car's front door, hoping for an accurate imprint.
Across the street, at one of the unofficial frat houses, a guy wearing only too-short sweatpants stepped barefoot onto the snow covered porch, walked over to the railing, and spewed a gallon of vomit. He remained bent over, forearms resting on the rail, panting, as steam rose from a snow-draped shrub.
'No,' I said. 'It doesn't really remind me of childhood.'
'Too bad,' S.S. said.
The college boy saw us, wiped his mouth onto his shoulder, then walked back to the front door gingerly on the balls of his feet, as though crossing a bed of hot coals. The letters across the ass of his sweatpants spelled JUICY.
'Shit,' I said when I dropped my keys for the second time. I shouldn't have been driving in the condition I was in, but what could I do? I had challenged a man to a fight, and I was going to show up as I'd promised! The fact that I had challenged this man over the comments section of a blog dedicated to rejections from literary magazines didn't matter.
"I learned how to see cornfields as nature"- T.C. Boyle, on Iowa.
May 12, 2021
This book was fantastic. Funny, original, and what he knows about writers and the world of writing is totally spot on. I'll write more on this book at a later date but it was really entertaining and I loved his cynical and jaded attitude about writing and the difficulty he had in finishing his novel after his original flush of success with his two published essays. Very funny and insightful look at the world of writing and writers.
June 11, 2010
Years ago, I stumbled across McNally's debut story collection, Troublemakers, and really enjoyed it. His followup novel, The Book of Ralph, was even better, and marked him as a writer who'll always be on my radar. Here, he revisits the territory of his last novel, America's Report Card. In that humorous satire, a somewhat hapless young man finishes his MFA at Iowa and then takes a crappy office job in order to make ends meet, only to become embroiled in a strange series of events. This story also features an Iowa MFA in a dead-end job, although here, Jack Sheahan is twelve years removed from that prestigious graduate program.
After initial success with a short story in The New Yorker and Best American Short Stories, Jack's writing career foundered on the shoals of an unfinished novel, which sits in a box under a pile of old phone books. Instead, he makes his living being paid by publishing companies to escort writers visiting Iowa City on their book tours. Now, I'm always rather suspicious of novels about writers and writing (and films about films), as they often come across as acts of desperation by authors stuck for ideas. But here, the story is contained in a concentrated burst, as Jack struggles to juggle two demanding clients over the course of a snowy weekend, along with repeated encounters with his ex and a mysterious reclusive novelist who emerges from hiding.
It's a kind of madcap romp with a heart of gold, poking fun at all manner of literary stereotypes, from the bossy type-A publicist, to the man's man blue-collar writer with a secret trust fund background. At the same time, it addresses the universal theme of whether or not we ever live up to our potential, and what that even means. The action is very well measured, and the comedy comes in at just the right moments throughout, in a way that felt very much like a well-structured film. In an odd way, the tone of it struck me as similar to one of Martin Scorcese's lesser-known masterpieces, After Hours. Hopefully this isn't damning with faint praise, but it's the kind of book I could easily see being made into a fun little indie film.
After initial success with a short story in The New Yorker and Best American Short Stories, Jack's writing career foundered on the shoals of an unfinished novel, which sits in a box under a pile of old phone books. Instead, he makes his living being paid by publishing companies to escort writers visiting Iowa City on their book tours. Now, I'm always rather suspicious of novels about writers and writing (and films about films), as they often come across as acts of desperation by authors stuck for ideas. But here, the story is contained in a concentrated burst, as Jack struggles to juggle two demanding clients over the course of a snowy weekend, along with repeated encounters with his ex and a mysterious reclusive novelist who emerges from hiding.
It's a kind of madcap romp with a heart of gold, poking fun at all manner of literary stereotypes, from the bossy type-A publicist, to the man's man blue-collar writer with a secret trust fund background. At the same time, it addresses the universal theme of whether or not we ever live up to our potential, and what that even means. The action is very well measured, and the comedy comes in at just the right moments throughout, in a way that felt very much like a well-structured film. In an odd way, the tone of it struck me as similar to one of Martin Scorcese's lesser-known masterpieces, After Hours. Hopefully this isn't damning with faint praise, but it's the kind of book I could easily see being made into a fun little indie film.
April 29, 2010
Living in Iowa City--where this story takes place--I found this in the local independent bookstore--which, oddly enough, is referred to in the novel as "local independent bookstore" instead of Prairie Lights Books, which it obviously is. (While other local places retain their actual name, for some reason.)
I really enjoyed the story, even though it started to sputter a bit towards the end. I can't tell if I was supposed to feel sorry for the protagonist, but I never did. It was never a case of "poor guy, all this stuff happens to him", but rather "this guy cannot get his act together, so of course his life is going to suck." If that was intentional, then mission accomplished, I suppose.
The characters were fairly interesting at first, but then the introduction of each new quirky character (most likely, an author) detracted more and more from the overall cast of characters. Everyone started to feel like a one-dimensional bumper, meant to steer the plot somewhere else.
The central story deals with a former author who has to deal with "successful" authors. However, the way the story was written, it really feels like you can't turn over a rock here in Iowa City without dislodging 17 would-be authors. That contributed to things feeling especially contrived. I think the story could have benefited a bit more from drawing a bit more from the overall flavor of the city.
In spite of my nitpicking, I did enjoy reading this book. The local tidbits were a nice seasoning for me, particularly one line that may or may not have been taking a poke at my own place of employment.
The takeaway from this novel: no one really deserves to ever get a book deal, because all writers are strange and flawed individuals. I mean, even more strange and flawed than the rest of us.
I really enjoyed the story, even though it started to sputter a bit towards the end. I can't tell if I was supposed to feel sorry for the protagonist, but I never did. It was never a case of "poor guy, all this stuff happens to him", but rather "this guy cannot get his act together, so of course his life is going to suck." If that was intentional, then mission accomplished, I suppose.
The characters were fairly interesting at first, but then the introduction of each new quirky character (most likely, an author) detracted more and more from the overall cast of characters. Everyone started to feel like a one-dimensional bumper, meant to steer the plot somewhere else.
The central story deals with a former author who has to deal with "successful" authors. However, the way the story was written, it really feels like you can't turn over a rock here in Iowa City without dislodging 17 would-be authors. That contributed to things feeling especially contrived. I think the story could have benefited a bit more from drawing a bit more from the overall flavor of the city.
In spite of my nitpicking, I did enjoy reading this book. The local tidbits were a nice seasoning for me, particularly one line that may or may not have been taking a poke at my own place of employment.
The takeaway from this novel: no one really deserves to ever get a book deal, because all writers are strange and flawed individuals. I mean, even more strange and flawed than the rest of us.
September 8, 2016
For a book with such a standard narrator/protagonist, I really enjoyed this book. Look at that four stars. I read this book in a single day, despite being a fairly normal-sized adult novel. Because I was enjoying it! I haven't enjoyed a book this much for a few months. And even though it's not the greatest novel I've read even this year, and even though it has a handful of obvious flaws and isn't exactly the most fascinating read ever, I'm fond of it.
Jack is fun - a whitebread standby archetype, the loser who had potential but just kind of didn't do anything about it because he's a Whitebread Standby Archetype. I usually hate those but Jack is fun! He's a boring guy with a few fun stories but he's the perfect narrator. I really loved Lauren Castle, who sort of reminded me of a fouler-mouthed version of Shigure's editor from Fruits Basket. S.S. was lots of fun. The side characters, too, were interesting. I wish April had had more of her own story, rather than just being a love interest that got passed around, but she did at least have a character.
I wish there wasn't so much drunk driving because drunk driving isn't okay, at all, and it being passed over like it was a normal-sized bad idea, rather than being an awful, life-threatening bad idea, sort of bothered me. But, I mean, it's an adult novel about chronically irresponsible adults. It could have been worse.
And it's about writers being losers and jerks. I'm a cynical wannabe writer who is a loser and a jerk, and who knows lots of writing losers and jerks.
Jack is fun - a whitebread standby archetype, the loser who had potential but just kind of didn't do anything about it because he's a Whitebread Standby Archetype. I usually hate those but Jack is fun! He's a boring guy with a few fun stories but he's the perfect narrator. I really loved Lauren Castle, who sort of reminded me of a fouler-mouthed version of Shigure's editor from Fruits Basket. S.S. was lots of fun. The side characters, too, were interesting. I wish April had had more of her own story, rather than just being a love interest that got passed around, but she did at least have a character.
I wish there wasn't so much drunk driving because drunk driving isn't okay, at all, and it being passed over like it was a normal-sized bad idea, rather than being an awful, life-threatening bad idea, sort of bothered me. But, I mean, it's an adult novel about chronically irresponsible adults. It could have been worse.
And it's about writers being losers and jerks. I'm a cynical wannabe writer who is a loser and a jerk, and who knows lots of writing losers and jerks.
August 13, 2011
At first I was skeptical, but this book quickly won me over. It's a funny, satirical look at the life of a blocked literary writer, and its commentary on the sad realities of the literary industry today are as dead on as they are morbidly funny. No one reads anyone, not even the publicists. Even the hardcore dedicated writers at the bottom of the totem pole often skip reading the literati with high billing, and what is that high billing all about if not a fancy pitch to a good agent and a good scandal to follow it up with? As an Iowa Writers Workshop MFA alumni I can say that his rendition of the Iowa atmosphere is a bit over the top, but I appreciate the sentiment, and I think no one would disagree with McNally that writers too often take themselves way too seriously, especially if they're just starting out. As for the absurdism, it is more realistic than one would wish, and I guess that's what makes the novel special. The two pages in which McNally goes off on what it's like to teach undergraduate creative writing were so dead on accurate that I almost felt the temptation to photocopy those pages and show them to my students, but then again, McNally is awfully one sided about that one particular aspect of teaching, so I left it at what it is: a good rant for a quick guilty laugh. This book is great for a lighthearted read that will also make you think, and especially awesome if you have an literary ambitions. It will tell you with disarming honesty what you're in for.
November 26, 2010
What a fantastic novel. I think I enjoyed this so much because I could empathize with the protagonist. I also happened to read it while camping in the desert working on my first novel/memoir, which mimics the travails of the main character.
This book has some very funny lines in it, too. It is very well written. I was sad when it ended because the author created some great characters. It has a fantastic plot.
This is the best novel I have read in many years. But I only think you will like it if you love books and you love writing. Although, as I mentioned, it really can be quite comical at times. I just don't know if everyone can relate, like I did, to the down and out struggles of the protagonist as he deals with his past brush with fame, his failed relationship, his uninspiring job and his inability to finish his novel.
Because the novel revolves around the venerable Iowa Writer's Workshop, a thorough knowledge of the mechanics of writing and a strong background in the canons of contemporary and classic literature will help you to understand many of the esoteric jokes.
I look forward to reading more by this author.
This book has some very funny lines in it, too. It is very well written. I was sad when it ended because the author created some great characters. It has a fantastic plot.
This is the best novel I have read in many years. But I only think you will like it if you love books and you love writing. Although, as I mentioned, it really can be quite comical at times. I just don't know if everyone can relate, like I did, to the down and out struggles of the protagonist as he deals with his past brush with fame, his failed relationship, his uninspiring job and his inability to finish his novel.
Because the novel revolves around the venerable Iowa Writer's Workshop, a thorough knowledge of the mechanics of writing and a strong background in the canons of contemporary and classic literature will help you to understand many of the esoteric jokes.
I look forward to reading more by this author.
November 25, 2012
I really liked this book! Told in short chapters the story of a guy who was a media escort, driving around big time authors when he himself was one once upon a time in the Iowa Workshop. The protagonist had a short story published in the New Yorker and then everything went down hill. He ends up losing one of his authors and we find out why she disappears. He just can't seem to get anything right. It's not over the top chaos but he seems to run into the same people and lots of drinking is involved, eccentric writers, ego's competing because aren't most authors really attention starved?? I think he has a keen eye for the writing community esp the pretentious Iowa workshop people. Overall it's not the Great American Novel or anything but I think most of the stuff I like to read as opposed to what I'm told I shoudl be reading (the russians, Joyce, Steinbeck, et all etc.) I like a good fun romp through interesting minds and McNally has an interesting mind to say the least.
March 4, 2010
I wolfed this down. I happened to be in Iowa City when I bought and read it, and it was a true (if slightly guilty) pleasure to read this roman a clef/satire of the workshop, on workshop grounds. I knew most of the anecdotes and gossip within the book, which made me feel a bit smarmy and indicted (as bad as one of the satirized characters, I guess) and it was all too easy to fill in the real characters behind the slightly caricaturized (but barely) portrayals. The voice and pacing were terrific, and a lot of the jokes (like the title of an Oprah pick, and the conversation between two creative nonfiction writers in a bar) had me howling in my airplane seat back to San Francisco. I would recommend this to any workshop grad for sure, and to anyone else who is curious about the real writer's life (because it's sure not glamorized here).
June 24, 2012
It was funny, and its depiction of the inner workings of the writer world gave me the enjoyment of high-grade gossip. Some of the characters seemed to exist only for their purpose in the novel, and McNally's attempts to give "both sides" of likable/unlikable characters seemed after a while too forgiving and predictable. Some suckers just suck. The main character was supposed to be unlikable, and we were supposed to cringe with every wrong decision he made, but I wanted some kind of redemption at the end that would explain why all these people around him seemed to gravitate to him. The whole "you will write a great novel and it is the one the reader is currently reading" seemed a little self-aggrandizing and unfulfilled.
It's a fun book, though. I especially liked the characters MCat and S.S.
It's a fun book, though. I especially liked the characters MCat and S.S.
October 28, 2010
A hilariously snarky dig on the cutthroat world of writing and publishing. Jack Hercules Sheahan graduates from the Iowa Writers' Workshop and manages to get one of his short stories published in a Best American Short Stories anthology. Sadly, it's all downhill from there. Jack starts to work on a novel, which defeats him, and we find him twelve years later, still living in Iowa and working as a media escort for all of the hot new authors who have succeeded where he failed. John McNally manages to paint Jack as a sympathetic and believable character and a self-centered loser at the same time. There's also a great cast of supporting characters and enough random plot twists to keep the most critical of readers entertained. Loved this book, and you should too.
May 1, 2011
I really enjoyed this book! I'm not sure I really got the joke because I never really got what was going on in English class, but it seemed like one gigantic joke, a tongue-in-cheek, poke-fun story that was also just an entertaining story by itself. It is a fictional memoir of a writer who is actually a washed-up writer working as a media escort...for writers. All sorts of ridiculous happens, all of it exaggerated like a tall-tale that gets better for the telling. Or any story that Michelle Brown tells. It was funny and engaging and I couldn't put it down. It even seemed to have a little bit of a point at the end, about moving on and letting go. A good book if you are looking for something that is well written but won't break your heart.
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