Because I live in my own little world inside my head, complete with pugs dressed as butlers and rainbows made of Laffy Taffy, it was a long time before I became aware of Stewart O’Nan. Partially, I suppose, this is due to the fact that O’Nan’s books do not draw undue attention to themselves. He is not an elegant prose stylist; he does not construct elaborate plots that bend time and space and then loop back again; and he does not fetishize the typical professions found in most novels/television series/movies.
Instead, O’Nan produces sparely-written books that subtly mine the realities of the actual human condition. His characters aren’t rich, or powerful, or imbued with remarkable gifts. They are just muddling, middling human beings, like the ones you see every day, like the one you might be yourself. Of course, this doesn’t provide much of an escape, and it might leave you a little befuddled by the end. O’Nan, you see, isn’t following the typical three-act structure that frames most novels or screenplays. Sure, there is often a genre hook in his fiction – a murder, a kidnapping – but that’s never the focus. Readers acclimatized by modern storytelling techniques might be a bit puzzled. You finish one of his novels and think That’s it?
That’s something you need to know going in to an O’Nan novel: that no matter what the book jacket says it’s about, it’s not about the plot. There is no action; there is only people reacting to action, which most often takes place off center stage.
My love affair with Stewart O’Nan began with Last Night At the Lobster. It was a fortuitous meeting: Had O’Nan chosen to set his novel at a Chipotle, I probably would have lived and died without ever cracking one of his books. As it is, however, he chose the Red Lobster, and the Red Lobster and I have a history. One of the great middle-class pleasures of my life is the Admiral’s Feast, which can feed me for close to a week, depending on how many biscuits I can slip into my pocket without the waiter noticing.
Last Night at the Lobster is about – as the title strongly hints – the last day of a Red Lobster that is being closed. Its main character is Manny, a pot-smoking manager who is really serious about doing a good job. He reminds me of that Martin Luther King, Jr. quote about how if you are called to be a streetsweeper, you should sweep as Michaelangelo painted or Beethoven wrote music. Manny treats his job as though it were the most important thing in the world; he gives it the care of a master craftsman, with an eye to the smallest details. It is something that is both sad and noble.
The Lobster's final day is snowy and treacherous. Manny has to deal with the fact that many of his employees – at least the ones who aren't leaving with him to go to the Olive Garden (in the hands of anyone but O’Nan, I would’ve assumed this to be a snide joke directed at Middle-America; O’Nan, however, has such empathy, that the thought never crossed my mind) – haven't come in. He is also trying to sort out his relationship with Jacquie, a waitress and past lover who has moved on with her life. Manny still loves Jacquie, but he has a pregnant girlfriend, Deena, back home.
This is a slim book, an epic in miniature. It is a minutely detailed reconstruction of a day. The tasks, mundane as they are, are inflated to heroic proportions. There is Manny's courageous attempts to clear the sidewalks with a stubborn snow blower; there is Manny's shuttle diplomacy as he keeps peace with a tempestuous cook, bickering waitresses, and annoying customers; there is Manny's Homeric trek across a treacherous parking lot to reach a shopping mall, where he then tries to find a gift for Deena. All of this is just cover for O’Nan to explore humble lives given meaning through love.
Despite the title and subject, this is not an ironic book. (And I say this as a person who actually purchased this book a bit tongue in cheek. I mean, it’s about Red Lobster! It’s the hillbilly Delmonico’s). O'Nan never makes fun of the plight of these lower-middle class service providers. There is no false nobility or artificial inflation of the working man; and there is also no condescension or patronization. He treats his characters, simply, as humans, and O’Nan has a fine eye for people. Manny's struggle to keep the Red Lobster open until closing time may seem like a small thing to us, but for him, it is akin to blowing up the Death Star or throwing the Ring of Power into the fires of Mount Doom. We don't all get to save the world, or even lives; most of us do the mundane to get a paycheck, but we try to do it well, because there is some honor there, in a job well done, whatever that job may be.
This is a short, quick, gratifying read. O'Nan is a propulsive storyteller. He writes in simple, clear prose that is blunt and to-the-point. I’m quite impressed with the details he can limn with so few pages and so few adjectives. That said, there's nothing poetic or elegant in the words. I can't remember a single line from the book, or a single profound thought. The profundity is in the story itself. It’s a subtle point is worth looking for. This isn’t a novel that helps you escape from your life; it is a novel that helps you relate to life.
The only lingering question I have is this: what caused this Red Lobster to close? Those places are always packed. Always. The most dangerous place I've been is a Red Lobster parking lot during Lent.