River Under the Road

One of the hardest books to describe,but an exceptionally good read. Scott Spencers novel RIVER UNDER THE ROAD is about two men, from two different families, how they come to meet, to live on the same property, in two different houses and their eventual clash. Thaddeus, an aspiring writer, is the son of not-Communists, raised in Chicago, who hooks up with the strange, girl could use a filter when she speaks, self-proclaimed artist Grace. Together, they move to New York City, he, to become the novelist of his dreams, and she, well, perhaps the artist she suggests she is meant to be. Thaddeus reaches fame, or fortune, but not as a novelist, and his wealth sets him in upstate New York in the mansion of all mansions, a house not haunted but with its own history, and Hat, a caretaker of sorts and his son Jennings, who seem to be a package deal.

Marriage and offspring follow and next thing you know, worlds collide on the Hudson River. Sparks are constantly flying in both houses, along the river, with neighbors, business associates, and dinner guests.

If a mans home is his castle, well, perhaps the ladies got the long end of the stick in this book. With a castle, comes a mighty fine price to pay for upkeep.

There is poetry on every page but pristine work in any art suggests no risks being taken. It’s hip, it’s cool, some interesting degeneracy among landed gentry. This highly polished novel gets its ticket punched in most traditional formal ways though too heavy on narrative-shy on dialogue that might add a third dimension to any character. It is careful. It is considered. It is masterfully crafted. It refers to a nifty range of precursors from Cheever (parties here as swimming pools), Lawrence ( the eroticized handyman) and all the wretched drunks of post WWII USA-lit. Got tired of the “usual suspect” cardboard alcoholic couple who are dismal to one another, unreachable to one another and these two wonder WTF? they DRINK all the time – that’s WTF. Alcohol is a depressant. alcohol is an exhausted trope in USA literature. Alcohol is tired and wants to go home. Alcohol is dark and dull . I was so looking forward to liking all of this book and recommending to friends but it ran out of gas. Writing about troubled people who drink is shooting ducks in a barrel. So easy there is lots of time to dream up poetic metaphors and precise and unusual descriptions and keep dialogue and narrative reciprocating. No one in this book is interesting after the stereotype scoop of bored rich people and film biz insider lore wears off. Showing the world how unhappy people with money can be is a moldier trope than the alcoholic couple. Everyone I know who has lots of money is happy as can be. A positive thing about this book is that it was at least readable for many pages whereas Jonathan Frantzen is always impenetrably dull – like reading sawdust. Strange and sad when an artist works so hard on a set of ideas and a cluster of characters that have no verve. Alcohol is a third rail. Is it impossible to write a novel about humorous, happy, highly motivated humans? Tolstoy was SO wrong. Happy families are fascinating and they’re all different. Unhappy families are run of the mill, dull, repetetive, anhedonic -unhappy characters in fiction are like hippie handmade houses – builders thing they are doing something intensely original and when all are compiled in a coffee table book, they all look like they were designed by the same uneducated but enthusiastic, passionate person. Depression and its dysfunctions are incredibly common. Who needs to read a book to learn more about it? Author here is the Christian in the Mencken quote who twists in agony knowing someone, somewhere on Earth may be happy.

This was a rather banal story filled with unlikely characters doing random things. That said, it kept me reading which I often don’t do with stories that meander like this so the writing must have been decent. It’s the story of a marriage, sudden wealth, affairs, art, screenwriting, drugs, orgies, hollywood, class, etc. you get the picture…a jumbled mess that doesn’t hang together at all. But there is enough juicy detail so it keeps you reading. The ending is lame. It just stops like the author just got tired of the whole mess.

Scott Spencer is a great storyteller. His characters leap off the page, as they say. I have read all his novels and enjoyed them immensely. That being said, this one, was not one of my favorites. The book starts off with a lot of energy but the trajectory soon loses momentum. The wife was a spoiled brat and the husband was an inexcusable jerk. And yet, it’s worth reading just because YOU KNOW THESE PEOPLE!

The story was well written, the structure was good, i guess I just didn’t care about any of these characters. They were all unlikable and feckless.

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