John Williams' 'Stoner'

Author John Williams doesn't just tell us that even the most boring and obscure lives can have value. In his 1965 masterpiece "Stoner," he proves it--by turning a cradle-to-grave recounting of a life with no adventure and few accomplishments into a page-turner.

How does he do it?

First, Williams imbues every page of this tight, 278-page novel with significance. We see a perfectly edited highlight reel of William Stoner's life, all unnecessary information cast aside. Every chapter is a turning point; every page drips with emotion and meaning.

Even Williams' descriptions of the minor characters carry great significance that make otherwise unimportant details completely absorbing. Stoner's mother-in-law's face isn't just "heavy and lethargic"--it also "bore the deep marks of what must have been a habitual dissatisfaction" (p. 57). Her voice isn't just "thin and high"--it "held a note of hopelessness that gave a special value to every word she said" (p. 59).

Second, the novel paints such an intimate portrait of Stoner that we can't help but be extremely invested in the conflicts that shape his life--conflicts that never could have anchored a novel by a lesser author but are presented here as high-stakes contests of wills. We want his marriage to succeed, until we don't. We want him to win his principled stand against a fellow professor with an ax to grind. We want him to maintain a loving relationship with his daughter despite his wife's best efforts to keep them apart.

It is only through specificity that fiction takes on a kind of general quality that captures human nature--and in developing his title character, Williams succeeds brilliantly at being so specific that Stoner becomes almost a stand-in for humanity itself.

The writing itself is also breathtaking. At once it is simple and profound--every sentence, every snippet of dialogue, infused with layers of subtext.

"Stoner" is a novel that will be with me forever.

The best paragraph(s) (p.115):

She laughed at him and shook her head. "Poor Willy," she said. Then she turned again to her daughter. "I am different, I believe," she said to her. "I really believe I am."

But William Stoner knew that she was speaking to him. And at that moment, somehow, he also knew that beyond her intention or understanding, unknown to herself, Edith was trying to announce to him a new declaration of war.