Sweet Home Minnesota

There is no doubt about it--Garrison Keillor knows how to tell a story. Whether he is amusing listeners nationwide over National Public Radio or entrancing readers in his written stories, Keillor and his unique sense of humor remain a staple part of American life in many homes. His latest novel, Wobegon Boy, follows in Keillor's beloved tradition of nostalgic Midwestern humor that tries to pine for the days of long ago, without becoming too preachy. The novel is a virtual gallery of detailed portraits on how modern life can be disconcerting, and even shocking, to the good old people of Lake Wobegon.

Yet hidden not too deeply in Keillor's amusing anecdotes lies a dark, growling edge of conservatism that could border at times on sexism, if one reads deeper into his pithy one-liners. For example, a distant relative is glorified because he, "on his last day, enjoyed beer and victory at cards and held a young woman in his arms." In addition, clever stabs at flaky New-Agers and oversensitive liberal types become dry, overused and almost bitter long before the novel's end. At one point, a ditzy secretary who later claims that John, the narrator, is trying to "power [her] down into a daughter role," comments that "if you're able to open yourself up to [New Age music], it's like a spirit bath." John silently thinks, "Like a brain wash."

If one can look past these expected barriers, Wobegon Boy can prove to be quite an entertaining read. But the question remains--can the average, non-Midwestern reader appreciate Keillor's morality-twinged humor?

If one knows anything about Keillor's style of writing, the story line may be rather style of writing, the story line may be rather predictable: Midwestern Boy Named John Makes Good, Midwestern Boy Longs for Home and 'Real Lutheran Values,' Midwestern Boy Gets in Trouble at Work with Liberal Bores, Midwestern Boy Goes Home and Realizes Meaning Of Life, Midwestern Boy Finally (and Unexplainably) Gets Great Elusive Girl.

The characters Keillor creates are often caricatures, but that is exactly what makes them so funny to read about. He takes people whom the modern world would normally take seriously--John's co-workers at the radio station, for example--and outlines them in 3-word descriptions. John's beer-drinking buddies from back home, however, are punctuated with long and often hysterically funny anecdotes. "Bug lotion has no effect whatsoever on those Florida flies," one old man mentions over beers at the local bar. "A crucifix helps, but you have to hit them really hard with it." The locals become the real people, the characters that readers remember most vividly and care most about.

Keillor's charmingly lucid writing, however, cannot hide the gaping flaws of the plot and main characters in Wobegon Boy. Almost halfway through the novel, a magazine with a front-page picture and article appears one day, depicting John as a "portly Lutheran Lothario" who "tried to 'psychologically seduce'" women at the public radio station where he works. However, up to that point in the book, readers are lead to believe that John is kind, quiet, in love with his girlfriend Alida, and not coming close to stepping on anyone's toes along the way. This sudden, almost violent disclosure of persecution makes the reader stop and wonder what he or she has been missing--or what Keillor is intentionally excluding from his character sketches.

By the time Keillor has moved on and is attempting to crack jokes again, the sour aftertaste of the unresolved and uncomfortable scenario stays in one's mind. The liberals are portrayed as unsympathetic whining yuppies, but John himself is far from innocent. When trying to entice a rich elderly lady to donate her fortune to his radio station, he describes an opera--which, incidentally, bears a startling resemblence to the Tony- and Pulitzer-Prize winning Rent--produced by his main competetor for the money. After describing it with much disgust, John declares that "people writhing around...singing political slogans does not constitute opera." Other potentially humorous moments in the text also ring with underscored conservative sentiments. Newt Gingrich is described as a "battling visionary" comparable to Susan B. Anthony and Martin Luther King. Also, when pondering his Norwegian heritage, John thinks, "If we aren't the chosen people, then why did God make us so close to the standard?"

Criticizing the liberals, however, becomes difficult. As Keillor portrays them, they are either militant freaks of society who fight for ridiculous-sounding causes, or else self-obsessed inner children who whine when they should be working. "New Age music," John grumbles in his head, "[is] relaxation music for yuppies to listen to and get even farther into themselves than they already were." Readers cannot help but despise as well as laugh at his descriptions of people so untouchably far from reality. To defend them, particularly the ones who persecute John so suddenly and relentlessly, is to become one of them. This is Keillor's Catch-22: either you laugh with him at these ridiculous oversensitive creatures, or else you become one of them, book reviewers unfortunately included, and risk being laughed at yourself.

Another perplexing scene in the novel, though a much less politically charged one, is the issue of Alida, John's adored girlfriend. She is described time and time again as beautiful, brilliant, and full of personality. She also eludes John's proposals of marriage repeatedly. Then, as suddenly as the radio station scandal arises, she agress to be his wife. One could believe that this is nothing more than Keillor's deus ex machina for the story--she has to say yes eventually, but it has to take a while to build suspense.

Yet some suspension of disbelief has to be employed on the reader's part as well. Why is such an incredible catch attracted to this quiet Midwestern boy? And why does she suddenly say yes, after so many enthusiastic no's? After reading the sweetly sentimental poem John wrote for their wedding, Alida falls into his arms, and he realizes "why men have written poems all these centuries--it is to impress a woman in hopes that she will sleep with you." It is as if Alida has suddenly thrown away her previous desires to live life fully as a single person, and has suddenly subscribed to John's almost sexist ideals that beautiful young women are one of the great pleasures of life. But whose life?

Despite all of these issues and complications, however, Wobegon Boy is still for the most part an entertaining and even warm-hearted read. Keillor's affection for his fellow Midwesterners, while still being able to poke great fun at them, is unmatched in his field. Conversations between elderly relatives is compared to a Samuel Beckett play, an uncle in politics claims that "bribery [is] simply a case of the free market at work simplifying the decision-making process," and the modern-day world always provides fodder for laughs. When one of John's aunts complains about her fatigue, another relative suggests that it may be depression, to which she retorts, "Of course I'm depressed; if you were tired all the time, you'd be depressed too."

If one can look past all of the potential p.c. faux pas and can interpret Keillor to be wistful rather than patronizing, the novel's heart truly comes through. "The stream of insults that life directs at you cannot be vanquished by skill or cunning," John comments. "You can't fight your way clear. You can't outsmart life. The only answer is to be loved so that nothing else matters so much." Such honest, simple wisdom can rarely be argued with. Keillor may preach and he may be politically biased, but the man is still talented, hilarious, and a damn good story-teller.