You Cant Go Home Again (Paperback)

This is what I mean by Wolfe is a good writer, but not a good storyteller. There's no technical fault with his writing, but it lacks the focus, the cohesion of a good story; it attempts to tackle everything instead of focusing on one or two key issues. I suppose part of this problem was that by the time the book was published, Wolfe was dead from TB--the book was assembled by his editor from tons of notebooks--and the editor did the best he could to create a unifying thread by trying to make it about George Webber's journey to enlightenment. Although the problem is that the story ends up being a gigantic "come to realize story" because it isn't clear what, if anything, Webber is going to do now that he's unlocked the secrets of the universe.

The learning and changing occurs within Wolfe's own mind, spewed out in the last 5 chapters as a letter to his former editor. As I said, though, what action he plans to take is unclear.

There were parts of this book that were interesting, flashes of brilliance. When Webber goes back home early in the book, I thought it was entertaining (albeit over-the-top) to see how his hometown had changed in the Roaring 20s. The party at Esther Jack's dragged on for too long, but had its moments. Then, after the book really sags in the middle, we get to the meeting with Lloyd McCarg(?), which was amusing. Finally, after suffering through page after page of horrible German dialect and a lot of vague stuff about how Germany has changed, Wolfe shows the horror of the Nazis through the incident on the train, which was the most touching moment of the story, IMO.

The thing is, none of it really connects to each other, except that George is involved with everything. We never really find out what happens to Esther Jack and company during the Depression or about George's love interest in Germany or a whole lot about the devastation to his hometown. Everything is touched on briefly and then disappears, a flash in the pan.

So, as I said, there are flashes of brilliance and that's the problem. A good writer is hit-or-miss while a good storyteller is consistent in holding the audience's attention by creating a vivid, interesting story. To use another of my unpatented sports analogies, a lot of pitchers have a good arm--throwing in the upper 90s, maybe tickling 100mph--but they don't have the command of their pitches to find the strike zone on a consistent basis. Those guys are throwers, not pitchers. Great pitchers may not always throw as hard, but because they have good control (most days) they get the hitters out. Thus a good pitcher will last a lot longer than a thrower.

A guy like Wolfe is definitely a thrower, able to write well, but unable to hit the mark consistently enough to create a captivating story. A guy like my boy John Irving, on the other hand, is a good pitcher, who has enough command of his story to keep readers hooked...at least in most of his books--even the best pitchers have off days. Wolfe may have been brilliant and a genius, but he lacked the refinement necessary to put him up there with the greats.

Still, you have to appreciate that the books has survived in our collective memory for this long. It's not for the faint of heart though. If you want light beach reading, look elsewhere. And if you want a better STORY, read "The World According to Garp" and see a great storyteller in action.

Beginning with the success as a budding writer, Wolfe tells his story through the eyes of George Webber, as he returns to his home ground, is rejected, and is cut loose to wander through New York, Paris and Germany - in each case closing the door on an era, and reliving the home town experience that he 'can't go home again.'

One falls in love with Wolfe's use of detail as he takes you on this whirlwind tour of impressions and feelings about the Depression, what it meant to the people who lived it, to him and to society at large. A true gem of historical vengette's it reflects the world on brink of globalization that was the story of the later 20th century.

There is not one sentence in his book that does not make total sense upon first reading. If it seems not to, it is only because the reader has skipped a line. With a vocabulary that is vast, but which he uses with unique precision, Wolfe tells the story of George Webber, a writer, who is in essence, Thomas Wolfe, the writer. Wolfe ultimately sees himself as an artist that is an observer of human thought and action. But in addition, one that has an obligation to do what one can, to stamp out ugliness, violence, injustice, inhumanity, and so many other wrongs that rear their heads in society from time to time.

Yet, even with this extraordinary brilliance, clarity, and understanding of the human condition, like all great writers and great artists, he leaves the reader with a question. If clearly, it is his understanding of his personal duty, his personal philosophy to work to do what one can do, to end injustice, then why, is he, personally, always running away? As the book is a picture of one always on the move, always observing people, always changing venue, but wisely with great proficiency and efficacy, storing these experiences away as he seeks his understanding of the human condition; he is constantly yet on the move. And so, how does one work to stamp out injustice, if one is always running from the place he is at, and believes "He can't go home again?" This then becomes the challenge to the reader as well. And thus, the questions of the "meaning of life" are never fully answered. How really could they be?

For those who wish to see an example of one man try to find those answers, with the clearest articulation I have ever seen in any book, one should read Wolfe's book as soon as possible. It reads moderately quickly, due to Wolfe's amazing clarity. And it does articulate many of the answers to many of the questions that all thinking people ask themselves as they go through life.