On Shuggie Bain, or: are writers OK?

WSIR #30

Friends, between us, I’m beginning to think that we need to stage a collective therapy intervention for modern authors (and the editors and publishers who love them.)

Putting aside any discussion of the works’ substantial merit, it seems as though every celebrated piece of fiction lately is just … unrelentingly depressing. Shuggie Bain and We Begin at the End being just the most recent examples that I’ve read, but we could certainly put The Nickel Boys or Real Life or How Much of These Hills is Gold in there too. For the characters, it starts off bad and then things really go south. If something could turn out okay, well, it doesn’t.

I’m not sure why I’m surprised, since authors and artists are just people (smarter, more magical, more accomplished, more disciplined people, but people all the same) and as such, create works that are also products and reflections of lived society. It seems as if, when things are going generally well, the art that comes out 2 - 4 years later has a relatively hopeful tenor too - for example, four years post-Obama election, bestsellers included the Steve Jobs bio (celebrating creativity and genius if of a problematic man), The Hunger Games, and Unbroken (both of which certainly have darkness but also are about good triumphing over evil and the power of human resilience.) But also during that same time, we saw a number of books about the masks “good girls” wear to hide their anger and ambition (like Gone Girl, Fates and Furies, and the Elena Ferrante books - all to be discussed at a future date.) PS if my deeply un-researched theory holds, we’re in for some doozy of pandemic and post-pandemic books, y’all.

So perhaps it makes sense that after many years of frightening global political divisiveness, imminent climate crisis, wealth inequality and general doom, we’re seeing a reflection of books where pain is inevitable, people are disappointing, hope is a fool’s errand and then you or people you love die. And then you win the Booker.

Don’t get me wrong; there’s so much to love in works about grief, about trauma, about the unspeakable things people do to themselves and each other, and how life doesn’t usually have a happy ending. And I adore a tearjerker! But personally, I find that when there are interspersed moments of lightness, or humor, or joy, or positive love, it makes the heartbreak that much more poignant, the characters that much more human, the loss all the more bittersweet. And at this point, it feels more unexpected, because current fiction trends seem to favor the unrelentingly bleak, and I’d like to write a strongly worded letter to someone about it. Or send some St. John’s Wort to our writer friends.

But after all that, should YOU read Shuggie Bain? I can only say maybe, and here’s why:

Seriously, does this woman not look just like Frances McDormand?

Maybe you should! Because the story is truly powerful and unforgettable.

Shuggie Bain is a fictionalized version of the author’s childhood, growing up as a “sensitive child” with an alcoholic mother in 1980s public-housing Glasgow. These characters are so vivid, and wee tenderhearted Shuggie is so vulnerable, that it’s both a big coming-of-age saga and an intimate and detailed portrait of a family. This book, and its depiction of the unbreakable, unbearable love of a child and his complicated, damaged mother, stays with you.

But maybe not, because it’s also unrelentingly sad.

It’s shaky ground to critique a writer’s actual lived experience, but there was clearly an authorial choice to view everything through the lens of pain, disappointment and heartbreak. This is beautiful in its own way, but literally no one gets a break, ever - especially not Shuggie. Even the moments of kindness are manipulative. And for that reason, the unflagging loyalty and love Shuggie has for his disappointing mother didn’t feel earned for me (which - is probably the point. But it doesn’t feel “beautiful” as so many reviewers say, to me it feels sad and abusive.)

But do read it! Because the writing is visceral and indelible.

Douglas Stuart is skilled enough that he basically pulls off this dreariness, and a lot of the reason it works is that his writing is SO gifted, particularly in the way he sees and describes people and their bodies. Their teeth, their clothing, their walks, their skin, their smells, their saliva. “Visceral” in the truest sense of the viscera of humans. Apparently he was/is a fashion designer and it tracks - his writerly eye sees every detail and is able to depict it in unexpected and lyrical ways.

But maybe don’t, because his gimlet writer’s eye is unsparing, verging on unkind.

Even the “beauty” in Shuggie’s world - his mother’s clothing, for example - has a shabby and seedy quality to it. He or his mother may love it but we as the readers are instructed to know better. A book doesn’t need true white-hat protagonists and of course we root for Shuggie, but whether aesthetically, morally, or loyally, virtually basically everyone else comes up shamefully wanting in this novel. Again, it’s honest, but for me it was a rough read.

But do consider reading it, because so many people love it, in the vein of A Little Life and others.

Let’s just say you decide to overlook the cavalcade of awards this book earned - the Booker, the National Book Award finals, etc. This is also a book that so many “normal” (amateur? civilian?) readers have named as their favorite from last year, and have recommended to me. I’ve often heard it compared to A Little Life, if that does anything for you. You may be in the lovers’ circle!

But also, many people don’t love it, and you should read what you want!

I put myself in the “I appreciated it, I guess, but didn’t love it” camp, and I’ve heard the same from some of you (hopefully) reading this right now. So if you want to skulk shamefully over to this camp, I’ll save a space.

Did you read Shuggie Bain? Please make the case to others - read it or leave it?

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