All the time reading Stoner by John Williams, I was wondering why my generation of readers had decided to revive this particular novel. It seemed remarkable only in how sad a constantly thwarted life could be. And then I finished the book, everything suddenly clicked, and I set the book down with an audible “wow.” I had just been thinking, perhaps 20 pages before, of how unromantic and depressing this book was, of how unsuccessful Stoner’s life was, and then I was in pain as Stoner neared the end of his life (for the book spans his entire life) and I read:
“A kind of joy came upon him, as if borne in on a summer breeze. He dimly recalled that he had been thinking of failure—as if it mattered. It seemed to him now that such thoughts were mean, unworthy of what his life had been. […] There was a softness around him, and a languor crept upon his limbs. A sense of his own identity came upon him with a sudden force, and he felt the power of it. He was himself, and he knew what he had been.”
And then I felt like that former impression of mine was unworthy of this end.
It truly calls into question the definition of success, which society and your own sense of esteem and convention always tries to define for you. I think it struck me so hard because it made me ashamed. Of looking down on Stoner and his life. Of expecting so much more of the novel and my idea of a romanticized life than I would expect in reality or of myself. Of how skewed my perspective seemed to be. This is what John Williams himself had to say about Stoner:
“I think he’s a real hero. A lot of people who have read the novel think that Stoner had such a sad and bad life. I think he had a very good life. He had a better life than most people do, certainly. He was doing what he wanted to do, he had some feeling for what he was doing, he had some sense of the importance of the job he was doing. He was a witness to values that are important…The important thing in the novel to me is Stoner’s sense of a job. Teaching to him is a job—a job in the good and honorable sense of the word. His job gave him a particular kind of identity and made him what he was. […] You never know the results of what you do.”
Stoner’s marriage was an utter failure. Stoner’s career experienced a harsh downcurve. Stoner found love in an extramarital affair and had to relinquish it. Stoner as a parent was overturned and undermined by his wife. And yet, he was principled, passionate about education and about literature, and largely inoffensive. I loved the scene where he stood firm in not passing an obviously ill-suited student although he was the head of the department’s pet. Though it led to the death of Stoner’s career advancement, it proved he was quietly but firmly principled. I felt for him as he stoically maintained his position though justice didn’t prevail.
My main issue that I still maintain is that Stoner sometimes frustrated me with how passive he was. I don’t mind a passive protagonist in general, I’m all for passive living, except when it comes to the raising of your children. Stoner never advocated for his daughter Grace, never intervened into the destructive path his wife Edith was leading her, and Grace ended up a depressed alcoholic. That bothered me. A traumatizing childhood led to a horribly lived adulthood, and Stoner viewed himself as a bystander. Even though he had the harsh experience of his own loveless marriage, when Grace claimed that it didn’t matter whether she married her one-night stand baby daddy, Stoner concluded, “And it didn’t matter; Grace’s eyes were fixed beyond him, into a distance she could not see and which she contemplated without curiosity. He remained silent and let his wife and daughter make their plans.” He barely cares about his own daughter’s fate. And when he realizes she’s an alcoholic: “And Stoner came to realize that she was, as she had said, almost happy with her despair; she would live her days out quietly, drinking a little more, year by year, numbing herself against the nothingness her life had become. He was glad she had that, at least; he was grateful that she could drink.” It made me a tad angry, in fact. Being passive about your own life is one thing; being passive about the life of someone you’re responsible for is borderline criminal neglect.
Writing this review has made me realize that I have complex feelings about this book. I went from awe and respect to a resurgence of indignation. But I am really glad I read this. I didn’t think I would be until the very last page or so, but the journey was worth it. And I do like John Williams’ writing style. His prose is straightforward, earthy, clear. The writing is as restrained and stoic as Stoner himself, but seems to also convey an inner passion. It perfectly suited the conveyance of this straightforward, realistic life that maintains the sympathetic undercurrent intrinsic to humanity.
