The Sportswriter Review
The Sportswriter is the first installment in the “Bascombe” series of novels by Richard Ford, and precedes the Pulitzer-winning Independence Day. Considering the nine-year publishing gap in between, I wonder whether Ford had always intended to write a quartet of novels about Frank Bascombe. Regardless of intention, I find Frank’s heart pounding out of his chest—his professed sense of pivotal life changes to come—a sensible way for Mr. Ford to posit himself and his protagonist for Independence Day.
Frank and his ex-wife (only referred to as “X” throughout) have a couple divorced years behind them. As far as American divorces go, theirs is not a typical situation. For starters, Frank facilitates all communication between his former in-laws, who are themselves divorced. They also had a son who we learn died at nine from Reyes. Their younger living children are barely active participants in The Sportswriter, and considering the items on Frank’s itinerary over Easter weekend 1984, it’s decidedly for the better.
Frank’s weekend entails a trip to Detroit to interview ex-NFL player Herb Wallagher and lay groundwork for an article his magazine has assigned him. Although amiable correspondence is shared with Wallagher in advance of the trip, Frank’s experience meeting him in Detroit dispels expectations he had for the interview. Wheelchair-bound and suffering from intense mood swings, Frank finds Wallagher to be a disagreeable, choleric man. Not only this, Frank’s vapid girlfriend Vicki has tagged along with him on the trip, a nurse with insufferably poor grammar and a brooding attitude. As the weekend progresses, Frank comes to terms with the futility of his attempts to win over Vicki, as well as write a viable piece for the magazine.
While on the way to having such realizations Frank takes us back in time to when he was a relatively well-known short story writer. We also get an idea of the kind of mishaps that led to the dissolution of his marriage with “X,” which occurred shortly after their son’s death. Before heading off to New England to try his hand at being a college professor, Frank shares that he had flings with eighteen women while still married to “X.” Then, while residing at the college, we learn he started an affair with yet another. The offering up of such episodes of philandering invited me to judge Frank Bascombe, father of two. It would’ve been pretty easy, and I’m sure plenty did. But I have to say—it was hard to genuinely want to. There are applications of sensitivity—gentleness, even—given to insights on his life’s events, while making a solid case for himself putting best divorced foot forward when navigating an amicable rapport with “X.”
For a man pushing thirty-nine (exactly six years older than myself) Frank Bascombe has lived a lot of life. You need to consider Frank’s trajectory if you find yourself like me, who didn’t want to write him off on account of his infidelities, throwing away a marriage without any attempt at salvaging, and initiating a personal relationship with a college-age intern. In my opinion, it’s worth digging into what that trajectory is all about; there’s far more to Frank Bascombe than what is perceived here.
Some of the more interesting moments in The Sportswriter prevail in its asides. Pages involving the Divorced Men’s Club Frank is associated with—particularly conversations with eccentric co-member Walter Luckett—offer up insights about insecurities of men who are stuck at a strange time between young adulthood and middle age. I don’t presume to know much about this, but considering the ages of the men involved (Walter Luckett is said to be only in his mid-thirties) there is a relatable sense of uncertainty in the notion of facing life alone at a time you didn’t realize you would be. At the very least, reading about divorced men close to my own age was an affecting byproduct of The Sportswriter.
For those expecting to read about sports, this isn’t that book. If you want to read about a divorced suburban father whose in-earnest, come-by-honestly code of ethics deals him tough but necessary life lessons—albeit colored by amusing, thought-provoking run-ins with some rather outrageous people—this is that book.
Expectations set aside, this is a beautifully crafted novel that handles its dramatic themes in a way that makes them palatable yet instills irony—possibly, even humor—while not undermining, or lacking sensitivity. Considering the awards garnered by its sequel, I would have to assume Richard Ford further solidified a formula that made The Sportswriter the superb work it is.
