By Adam Daum
Two books that had a profound impact on me as a teenage boy were Catcher in the Rye and This Boy’s Life. I was drawn to them because they echoed my own experience and exemplified masterful craftsmanship in literature. Both inspired my love for reading, and consequently, writing. JD Salinger, author of Catcher in the Rye, has long since disappeared from popular literary culture. But Tobias Wolff, author of This Boy’s Life, still churns out salient writing and is a visible figure in Northern California’s thriving literary scene. He’s written many successful novels, collections of short stories, and nonfiction works. Wolff currently teaches literature and creative writing at Stanford University. It was with great enthusiasm that I made the trip from San Francisco to Menlo Park last Thursday night to see him give a reading at Kepler’s Books.
Turnout for the event was high, sending the employees scrambling to find chairs for a hemorrhaging flow of guests. Several devotees, including myself, chose to stand against a row of book shelves at the back to get a better view.
Wolff began by offering insight into his nascence as a writer. The books that inspired his love for literature, he revealed, were not lofty stuff, but rather the quirky novels of Albert Terhune. (Strange as it may sound, Terhune’s novels are told from the perspective of a collie.) When asked if Terhune influenced his writing, Wolff hesitated. But Terhune’s works undeniably shaped “Her Dog,” one of the stories in Wolff’s new book, Our Story Begins: New and Selected Stories. Wolff read selections from “Her Dog” at Kepler’s.
In “Her Dog,” a man has a conversation with his dead wife’s dog about who was more loyal to her. The story explores the man’s struggles with the loss of his wife, and challenges his memories of their relationship.
Wolff also read from “Say Yes,” a touching story about a couple’s discussion of interracial marriage and the limitations of love. The story captures the intimacy and emotion of domestic life in a way that’s reminiscent of Raymond Carver’s best work.
Afterwards, Wolff took questions from a well informed audience, most of whom held one of his books in their laps, eagerly waiting for the post-reading signing. I saw a few hard back copies of Our Story in the hands of the older members. And several tattered copies of This Boy’s Life were toted by younger attendees.
I was surprised to learn that Wolff—like me—was obsessed with the works of Ayn Rand at one time. He was intrigued by her philosophy: objectivism. And that interest became part of the inspiration for the main character in his novel Old School, who has a similar admiration. Wolff has come to regard Rand as ill-thought (also like me), though he admitted to reading a number of her critics and proponents and found the whole discourse on her life very entertaining.
Wolff talked a lot about his slow, arduous writing process. “Some writer’s seem, almost, to be a channel for an inspiring work that flows down from the sky…,” he motioned to the ceiling, “…and through them. Updike is that type.” He likened his own process to working with clay, sometimes shaping it and pounding it down to start all over. “But the stuff’s still there,” he said.
Responding to an audience member’s question about the difficulty of writing a novel, Wolff expressed his affinity for the short story, a form he has mastered. He’s been given awards for his short stories time and again. He explained that the short story offers greater opportunity for perfection. “I can name very few perfect novels, many more short stories.” He said there are so few things we have control over. This is one place where perfection, he believes, is still possible.
Wolff discussed the importance of leaving some ambiguity in each story he writes, in response to an audience member/teacher who asked about the details Wolff used, and their symbolism. “Otherwise,” he said, “it would just be another Op-Ed piece.” And that’s exactly the point. That’s part of what divides creative from expository writing.
Before signing books, Wolff told a funny story about a telephone conversation he had with a former classmate. After reading This Boy’s Life, his classmate had called to reminisce. “Remember that story you wrote for me?” Wolff’s friend asked.
Wolff was so regarded for his writing prowess in high school he was approached by other students for help with their creative writing assignments. He wrote stories that they passed off as their own. This particular one, he recalled, was a complicated tale about a family of acrobats who’d discovered their father was ripping them off. They took out a life insurance policy on him and hatched a plan to bring about his “accidental” demise. It sounded fantastic.
“What did you get on that paper?” Wolff asked. There was a long pause.
“A ‘C’,” said his friend.
“A ‘C’? I thought it was better than that,” said Wolff.
“I did too,” his friend answered. “So I confronted the teacher about it after class. She said she agreed, that it was an ‘A’ paper.”
“So?” Wolff said.
“She told me: ‘But you didn’t write it. Jack Wolff did!’”
Wolff said he felt a swell of pride, even after all these years.
(Tobias Wolff at Kepler’s)
