The Evolving Nature of Artistic Growth

Many years ago I read Richard Russo’s Pulitzer Prize winning book Empire Falls. It takes place in a small New England town that is well worn and probably going to continue deteriorating. Lots of blue collar class issues and pitiable characters. But the writing is rich and one can’t help but care for the characters. It is excellent literature. So, without belaboring the point, its prize was well earned…

But recently I picked up Russo’s earlier novel Mohawk. Published in 1994, approximately six years before Empire Falls, we find largely the same setting in the same economic situation with characters very much cut from the same cloth as those in Empire Falls. But the book does not measure up in my estimation. Yes he got it published and re-released again but if you put the two novels side by side, it feels like Mohawk was a practice attempt at writing a novel about this place and these people, and certainly not of the literary significance that accompanies Empire Falls.

In short, one can see how Mohawk may well have taught Russo how to write Empire Falls. But I was a bit saddened, given my admiration for both Russo and Empire Falls, that Mohawk feels so much less – so much so that I quit reading this 400 page book at page 150. I may pick it up again, but also, I may not…

That writers grow is not surprising. And writing begets writing. So I’m making a point more than posturing a criticism. In fact I have no doubt that every writer has growth and room for growth. That’s one reason I find all the effusive praise for a debut work maybe 50% true and 50% contrived, and am disappointed that new writers need the faux boost of the ‘blurb industry’ and that publishers are so willing to heap on effusive blurbs, regardless of the work. (See my comments on Martyr from another post.)

Growth is, in my view, fundamental to an artist – and not just for writers. One non-literary parallel I witnessed was the set of goblets my wife and I got as a wedding gift from a friend who was a potter. We loved the goblets but about a decade later we reconnected with him at our house. He saw the goblets and asked if he could take them. We asked why and he said “I’m going to crush them. I don’t want my name associated with such pathetic work.” Of course we didn’t give them to him since we valued them even though, seeing his workmanship a decade later, we could see how far he’d come and what phenomenal pots he could throw. But like Mohawk, he’ll just have to live with it. For us though, I feel both thankful and lucky we got to experience Empire Falls.