Winnipeg author Bob Armstrong has taken the maxim write what you know to heart in his comic novel Dadolescence. The writer is a stay-at-home dad—and so is his protagonist Bill Angus, a house-husband who divides his time between coaching his son’s soccer team and finishing his overdue PhD thesis. Make that starting his thesis, which has been stalled for the past dozen years. While Bill waffles on the subject matter of his anthropology dissertation, his wife Julie climbs the corporate ladder, while becoming increasingly frustrated with Bill’s intellectual and emotional stagnation.
A promising debut novel, Dadolescence contains much prose that is both smart and funny, and the author’s thoughtful investment in the subject matter is apparent. But it also features some implausible developments and moments of distracting stylistic awkwardness that detract from the effectiveness of Armstrong’s otherwise smooth storytelling.
Dadolescence gets off to a plodding start—after all, this is a story of a procrastinator’s failure to accomplish anything. But the events of Bill’s life—and as such, the novel’s pacing—begin to accelerate three chapters in, when he decides to switch academic gears. His new plan: to engage in field research on his friends Dave and Mark, other home-bound fathers. But as Bill eventually comes to understand, his motivations have less to do with his flagging commitment to academe, and relate more to a creeping sense of self-doubt about his own personal choices.
Armstrong has authored ten plays. This first novel is an expansion upon one of them, the 2007 Winnipeg Fringe production Tits on a Bull—and there are moments when this is apparent. Particularly in the first half of the book, a number of extended descriptions call out for an editor’s pen.
At one point Bill bends down to kiss his seated wife who, not realizing, stands up. “And as I paused in mid-swoop, Julie stood, striking her forehead against the bridge of my nose in a good approximation of the street-fighting move known as the Glasgow kiss.” A very long description of a very rapid physical interaction, I bet this would have been funny to witness but it’s awkward to read. In drawn-out instances like this, the narrative approach seems at cross-purposes with the nature of the dramatic action.
Occasionally, the ways in which Armstrong’s characters relate to one another, such as an overabundance of stock physical gestures like the raising of eyebrows, ring inauthentic. And aspects of the narrative feel implausible. Some are of only passing significance—that a casual listener would detect from which American state a country singer’s accent originates, for instance.
But major plot elements depend upon others—such as the time Julie asks Bill to forward some important business messages to her corporate email address from the BlackBerry she forgot at home. In doing so, Bill finds information on the handheld device that sends him into a frenzy and affects his behaviour.
Most professional workplaces have configurations where email is always sent to both places simultaneously. And at the point the request is made, Bill and Julie’s relationship is clouded with distrust. Is skimming through her emails really a favour she would ask of him? Perhaps. But leaving such unintended questions in the reader’s mind can subtly undermine his or her faith in a story’s believability.
Despite such periodic stumbles, Dadolescence features prose that is otherwise confident and smoothly readable. The author deftly charts a romantic relationship in the process of slow disintegration. And Armstrong poses interesting questions about how modern men grapple with fatherhood and male identity when their circumstances defy common expectations. Is it emasculating for a man not to be a primary breadwinner—or to work in the home in the manner that many women long have? The tensions inherent to these questions are manifested in each of Armstrong’s male characters in a slightly different way.
In Bill Angus, Armstrong has created a character who is fallibly human, complex and likeable. On the surface, Bill seems to lack self awareness, but his ongoing internal monologue includes imaginary interviews with Donna Fontaine, a local radio announcer whose probing questions expose his neuroses and reveal his insecurities.
Meanwhile, Bill is hyper-conscious of the faults of his two unemployed buddies, Dave and Mark—a home-improvement junkie and a pitiable, compulsive braggart. These sidekicks figure significantly in the storyline but are not fully realized characters, frequently coming across as little more than simple stereotypes. To be fair, exaggeration is a key component of satire. But the plot hinges on Bill’s relationship with these two men, yet it’s hard to care about them when they are drawn with such broad strokes.
In Dadolescence, we get a generally enjoyable read and a strong sense of our hapless hero’s tortured psyche and challenging position in the contemporary social order. But some additional attention to the details of the world outside his head would have made for a richer and more compelling reading experience.
Turnstone | 240 pages | $19 | paper | ISBN #978-0888013842
‘Dadolescence’ by Bob Armstrong
Book Reviews
Winnipeg author Bob Armstrong has taken the maxim write what you know to heart in his comic novel Dadolescence. The writer is a stay-at-home dad—and so is his protagonist Bill Angus, a house-husband who divides his time between coaching his son’s soccer team and finishing his overdue PhD thesis. Make that starting his thesis, which has been stalled for the past dozen years. While Bill waffles on the subject matter of his anthropology dissertation, his wife Julie climbs the corporate ladder, while becoming increasingly frustrated with Bill’s intellectual and emotional stagnation.
A promising debut novel, Dadolescence contains much prose that is both smart and funny, and the author’s thoughtful investment in the subject matter is apparent. But it also features some implausible developments and moments of distracting stylistic awkwardness that detract from the effectiveness of Armstrong’s otherwise smooth storytelling.
Dadolescence gets off to a plodding start—after all, this is a story of a procrastinator’s failure to accomplish anything. But the events of Bill’s life—and as such, the novel’s pacing—begin to accelerate three chapters in, when he decides to switch academic gears. His new plan: to engage in field research on his friends Dave and Mark, other home-bound fathers. But as Bill eventually comes to understand, his motivations have less to do with his flagging commitment to academe, and relate more to a creeping sense of self-doubt about his own personal choices.
Armstrong has authored ten plays. This first novel is an expansion upon one of them, the 2007 Winnipeg Fringe production Tits on a Bull—and there are moments when this is apparent. Particularly in the first half of the book, a number of extended descriptions call out for an editor’s pen.
At one point Bill bends down to kiss his seated wife who, not realizing, stands up. “And as I paused in mid-swoop, Julie stood, striking her forehead against the bridge of my nose in a good approximation of the street-fighting move known as the Glasgow kiss.” A very long description of a very rapid physical interaction, I bet this would have been funny to witness but it’s awkward to read. In drawn-out instances like this, the narrative approach seems at cross-purposes with the nature of the dramatic action.
Occasionally, the ways in which Armstrong’s characters relate to one another, such as an overabundance of stock physical gestures like the raising of eyebrows, ring inauthentic. And aspects of the narrative feel implausible. Some are of only passing significance—that a casual listener would detect from which American state a country singer’s accent originates, for instance.
But major plot elements depend upon others—such as the time Julie asks Bill to forward some important business messages to her corporate email address from the BlackBerry she forgot at home. In doing so, Bill finds information on the handheld device that sends him into a frenzy and affects his behaviour.
Most professional workplaces have configurations where email is always sent to both places simultaneously. And at the point the request is made, Bill and Julie’s relationship is clouded with distrust. Is skimming through her emails really a favour she would ask of him? Perhaps. But leaving such unintended questions in the reader’s mind can subtly undermine his or her faith in a story’s believability.
Despite such periodic stumbles, Dadolescence features prose that is otherwise confident and smoothly readable. The author deftly charts a romantic relationship in the process of slow disintegration. And Armstrong poses interesting questions about how modern men grapple with fatherhood and male identity when their circumstances defy common expectations. Is it emasculating for a man not to be a primary breadwinner—or to work in the home in the manner that many women long have? The tensions inherent to these questions are manifested in each of Armstrong’s male characters in a slightly different way.
In Bill Angus, Armstrong has created a character who is fallibly human, complex and likeable. On the surface, Bill seems to lack self awareness, but his ongoing internal monologue includes imaginary interviews with Donna Fontaine, a local radio announcer whose probing questions expose his neuroses and reveal his insecurities.
Meanwhile, Bill is hyper-conscious of the faults of his two unemployed buddies, Dave and Mark—a home-improvement junkie and a pitiable, compulsive braggart. These sidekicks figure significantly in the storyline but are not fully realized characters, frequently coming across as little more than simple stereotypes. To be fair, exaggeration is a key component of satire. But the plot hinges on Bill’s relationship with these two men, yet it’s hard to care about them when they are drawn with such broad strokes.
In Dadolescence, we get a generally enjoyable read and a strong sense of our hapless hero’s tortured psyche and challenging position in the contemporary social order. But some additional attention to the details of the world outside his head would have made for a richer and more compelling reading experience.
Turnstone | 240 pages | $19 | paper | ISBN #978-0888013842