“Season of Grace”
Richard Russo is one of the authors I just can’t miss. I’ve read every book he’s written, and Straight Man was my first and favorite.
Henry William Devereaux, Jr., (Hank) is a tenured college professor in small-town Pennsylvania who is grappling with the meaning of life in general and the meaning of his life in particular. His shenanigans include terrorizing his fellow faculty in the English department, of which he is the chair; facing his estranged father’s imminent return to his life; threatening to kill a goose; handling his daughter’s marriage problems; and getting stuck in the ceiling of his building as he tries to avoid both his colleagues and his own health issues.
It’s a middle-aged person’s book--where did I go wrong and where did I go right, and are there enough things to send the scale one way or the other? How did my life end up this way, and what can I do about it...and do I want to? Hank is a hilariously self-reflective writer and teacher with a skill for observation but a penchant for not noticing the things right under his nose.
Russo is always brilliant and hilarious, but his characters are real and relatable people, even if they make you want to roll your eyes. I would not want to be friends with Hank or with any of his colleagues, but I recognize myself in them, and I want them to pull through, to do right, especially Hank.
When I was in my 20s, I loved this book and laughed through it. I’m still laughing through it now, but I understand it so much more. I’m not as old as Hank, but I relate to the feeling of ennui and the desire to have something happen--the thrill that chases the fear. I know the particular weight that accompanies and sometimes obscures the beauty of everyday life. I also know the weight of reflection when you try to figure out if you have done enough, if you are enough.
Of course that’s not really the right question--as my pastor says, if you’re still here, then God has work for you, so you can’t just check out--but it feels that way sometimes. When you’re young, you think you will single-handedly change the story of the world. As you age, you realize that you are really not the sole author, but a contributor to the anthology, and will have to learn the humility that comes along with accepting and writing your scenes.
Yet that doesn’t lessen your contribution. Russo calls middle age the season of grace, and when I think about all the things I’ve held tightly--bitterness, control, my plans and ideals--that grace is more beautiful than I can comprehend. I’m starting to see that my impact was never about me. It was about my heart, and where my devotion was. The ultimate impact was always up to God.
And if that’s true--that it’s about what God does and not what I prove or make or bring or do or save, then what delicious possibilities open up that I completely missed when I was 20?
That question is one I can get behind.