Tuesday, February 3, 2009

From the Bookshelf: Stewart O'Nan's Last Night at the Lobster


I've already written on this blog about an incredibly moving novel by Stewart O'Nan, A Prayer for the Dying. That book was set at the turn of the century, about a plague in a small town, told in second person. I should haven't been surprised by the turn O'Nan makes in a recent book, Last Night at the Lobster. Utterly different setting, characters, and plot. 

This tidy novel is something I wish I'd written. It's a "day in the life" formula -- which is a drawback -- but the setting is so engaging that I'll forgive that tried formula. The plot line is simple. The Red Lobster in a beat, snowed-in New England town is closing, and we're following the store manager on the last day. It's a lovely idea.

But it's a tricky one, too. It's a sort of tragedy, and the book comes off as a near sentimental ode to the "franchise restaurant experience." Really the question becomes 'Were the experiences of the employees (many of whom don't show up for the last day) human enough to warrant this tribute? The dishwasher, the impatient chef, the haggard waitress, the forlorn manager?' That's the challenge before O'Nan.

I think he pulls it off, but not as well as you might imagine. That's all right, because the details he provides for the setting -- maybe encapsulated in his constant reference to a marlin on the restaurant wall -- are stunning. This is a well-observed (if overly researched) book, and although I've been in these kinds of joints too many times, and although I've been in that muggy kitchen, I have to say I was moved by the descriptions, startled by them. In some ways, this is a tribute to that aspect of American life -- the highly commercialized experience, the faux dining, the tinkling muzak, the rich food, etc. I don't think that kind of life is going anywhere any time soon; if anything, we're getting more and more of it -- so it's a little hard to be sad about the closing of the Lobster in that regard.

I think what O'Nan wants us to feel is very nuanced. There's a bit of absurdity in bemoaning the closing of a Red Lobster. But inside of that shallow place are lives, human lives. And even in the dreariest of lives, there is humanity, drama -- life. That's a great notion. I guess the bigger question becomes, do these types of places create those lives? I'm not sure, and I'm not sure O'Nan wants to answer that question. Really his ambitions for this piece are pretty evident and restrained: show us Manny going through every motion (even though it seems silly since the joint is closing), doing his job, hustling through the day. He's a hero because he's doing his job even though the reasons for doing it are all seemingly gone. That's a rich American motif, no doubt. Manny's got the makings of a young Willy Loman. 

Two scenes in the novel linger. First -- the last night has no visitors except for a very elderly couple. The few remaining staff tend to them like royalty, and then the power goes off -- the whole story takes place during a raging snowstorm. Secondly -- on his "break" (again, the absurdity is powerful -- why take an official 'break' on your last day when the joint is shutting down?) Manny leaves the Red Lobster and trudges through the snow to a nearby mall. It's one of those sad, nearly abandoned malls, and O'Nan descriptions of the closed shops and pathetic open shops is right-on. Manny ends up at a 'Zales' to buy some diamond earrings for his girlfriend, as a Christmas present, and he ends up buying something out of his price range from a sexy Polish woman who could have easily asked him to chop off his hand, and he would have done it. Then, the sale is over, and Manny's out in the cold again. Really, in a way, the entire novel felt like this. The sexy, but cheap and brief experience -- and it's done, we're out in the cold, out in the snow, which is where the book ends, Manny cranking up his aged car, wishing he'd stolen the marlin out of the restaurant, then drifting off into the snow with the dead lights of the Red Lobster glowing dully behind him.