Half a boy and half a man

Nick Hornby, Slam (Penguin, 2007)

Every time I read a Nick Hornby novel my expectations are kind of low. Strange, considering that I have relished everything of his that I've read, especially the literary mix tape Songbook, which taps into the very personal reasons behind his (and my) attachment to popular music. 

So why are my expectations persistently low? I think it is because, with the possible exception of A Long Way Down (about four suicidal people who help each other push through their despair), all of Hornby's novels are about the same thing: "men" in their thirties and forties still growing out of their adolescence. How much mileage can one writer get from this?

Quite a lot, in fact. Hornby has the Woody Allen-esque ability to endlessly capitalize on the theme of adult neurosis. The difference with Slam is that the central character is not an immature adult, but an actual teenager. Nevertheless, the emotional challenges are startlingly similar to those faced by much older protagonists in High Fidelity and About a Boy. 

So after four or five books, I expect mediocrity. But Slam was as delightful to read as all the rest. Hornby writes about very tender things - in this case the feelings of a sixteen-year-old father-to-be - with the light touch they deserve. Most impressively, his adolescent vision seems authentic. The highly constructed paragraphs of The Outlander and Oryx and Crake seem leaden in comparison. Of course, Hornby's scope is much less ambitious, but that is what makes Slam feel like such a treat. Now that I have had that refreshing drink of water, I can swallow something heavier.