海角大神

In the first essay in his new collection, Farther Away, Jonathan Franzen rails against 鈥渢echnocapitalism,鈥� arguing that 鈥渃onsumer-technology products鈥� like the BlackBerry are 鈥済reat allies and enablers of narcissism.鈥� At this point, such pronouncements are standard Franzen fare: Not a week seems to go by without the author of 鈥淭he Corrections鈥� and 鈥淔reedom鈥� launching a jeremiad against Twitter or bemoaning how Facebook has changed the meaning of 鈥渓ike.鈥� Franzen is American literature鈥檚 grouch in chief, and he seems to relish the role.

Given the prickly persona that Franzen cultivates, it may come as a surprise to find that the real subject of 鈥淔arther Away鈥� isn鈥檛 technocapitalism, but that which it most threatens: love. The collection opens with a defense of love as 鈥渂ottomless empathy, born out of the heart鈥檚 revelation that another person is every bit as real as you are鈥�; it ends with Franzen finishing Paula Fox鈥檚 鈥淒esperate Characters鈥� for the 鈥渟ixth or seventh time,鈥� finding that the novel retains its power to move him: 鈥渟uddenly I鈥檓 in love all over again.鈥� 鈥淔arther Away鈥� is, from beginning to end, a celebration of love: what provokes it and what endangers it, what joys it brings and what terrors it produces.

There is an interesting tension between Franzen鈥檚 crisp, clear prose 鈥� even intensely self-reflexive passages are crisply, clearly so 鈥� and the digressive form his essays often take. The best pieces in 鈥淔arther Away鈥� are loose, baggy monsters, combining personal reflection, cultural analysis, and philosophical introspection. (There are also several excellent travel essays.)

鈥淚 Just Called to Say I Love You,鈥� an essay that considers the increasing frequency with which people publicly declare 鈥淚 love you鈥� into their cellphones, is a perfect example. In a mere 20 pages, Franzen manages to shift from a consideration of privacy and technology to a description of the events of Sept. 11 and the 鈥渄isastrous sentimentalization of American public discourse鈥� that it brought about to a close reading of a love letter his father sent to his mother in 1944. The essay shouldn鈥檛 work 鈥� there are too many shifts in register and tone 鈥� but somehow it does.

Franzen writes that 鈥渢he one thing that all prose ought to do is make its makers think.鈥� The best essays in this collection don鈥檛 just show us Franzen thinking; they force us to think differently, more expansively, as well.

鈥淔arther Away鈥� takes its title from the New Yorker essay in which Franzen first discussed the suicide of his friend the novelist David Foster Wallace. Franzen refuses to see his late friend as the saintly figure he has posthumously been cast as. Wallace鈥檚 intractable problem, Franzen believes, the spiritual and psychic bind that he could never think or write his way out of, was that he 鈥渘ever quite felt that he deserved to receive鈥� love. Wallace couldn鈥檛 allow himself to feel loved, and so he 鈥渒illed himself, in a way calculated to inflict maximum pain on those who loved him most鈥�. It鈥檚 a startlingly candid claim in a startlingly candid essay. Part elegy, part literary criticism, part travelogue (Franzen describes taking some of Wallace鈥檚 ashes to 鈥渁 forbiddingly vertical volcanic island鈥� off the coast of Chile), 鈥淔arther Away鈥� is one of the strangest, most powerful documents of mourning that I鈥檝e ever read.

鈥淔arther Away鈥� reveals a kinder Franzen, a writer who has no truck with sentimentality but is a clear-eyed defender of sentiment. At one point, Franzen lists the many things that he is against: 鈥渨eak narrative, overly lyrical prose, solipsism, self-indulgence....鈥� The list goes on. But 鈥淔arther Away鈥� is such a wonderful collection because of the things Franzen is for 鈥� the ennobling effects of love and imaginative experience, our need to escape from the isolated self and journey farther away, toward other places and other people.

Like the best fiction, 鈥淔arther Away鈥� charts a way out of loneliness.

Anthony Domestico鈥檚 essays have appeared in The Boston Globe, the San Francisco Chronicle, and Commonweal.