Book Report: It's What He Would Have Wanted

Book Report: It's What He Would Have Wanted
By Sean Hughes

'Shea Hickson's father, a TV weatherman, commits suicide, and when Shea discovers the body along with a series of diaries, his life, for the first time, has direction. He must decipher his father's meteorologically encrypted diaries and unfold the complicated and painful story leading up to his suicide. But this is no ordinary grief observed. Shea confronts every crisis in his life with an unhealthy dose of glib sarcasm, and his discoveries about his father are often as funny as they are tragic (he sleeps with his father's mistress, for instance). Young Hickson also must confront impending fatherhood, following a one-night stand with his hairdresser, and perform one final task for the shady leftist organization for which he has worked for several years.'
-Booklist

First paragraph:
"I wish I'd been born to different parents. They are decent enough folk, but...I guess it was the way they were raised. No, let me go further: I wish I'd been their parents. Let me introduce myself."

This is the story of one man's self-discovery, as he tries to piece together the motives behind his father's suicide. Shea is a slacker without any motivations of his own, and is prone to (especially after his father's death) dark and suicidal thoughts. Frequently, entire days are summed up on one sentence: 'I stayed in bed and slept.'

"Home to my stale life. I open the windows to freshen the air in the flat. If only I could open a window in my heart. I love the sanctuary of home. The chance to be completely at ease, the chance to be a cunt without anyone finding out. Time to have a chat with myself. I'm sure it is a pleasure to come home to loved ones but you can't really be yourself. It intrigues me that we can never fully be ourselves, that chance is lost at birth. There is a split second of realization of pure self but from that moment on we are influenced by others."

I could understand and thought it a realistic (if not tricky) personality trait, but as the story wore on, I couldn't quite be as empathetic as I wanted.

This book starts out grandly enough and within pages we learn that Shea loves blow-jobs. Shallow, but okay, I'll give him that. I just don't care to read paragraphs on the subject, especially when it was never a plot point. But the writing is good, if not long-winded. When Hughes is 'on', he's on, and with impressive perception. Some sentences ring more loudly than others:

"I don't know what she saw in me, a bone-snapping moodist sauntering along in a layabout's body whose social skills amount to being on nodding terms with the rest of the race."

*giggle* How... me. I love it.

The subject matter and banter slowly dried up in this story, and towards the end I was struggling to finish. Shea's 'secret' life eclipsed the hunt for his father's past--although the two did eventually join. But in the meantime, I was bored. I kept hoping for more from the subplot involving Orwell, Shea's little brother. Shea recently lost his lover to Orwell and that is partly why their relationship is dissolving.

"When we split, Orwell tried to comfort the two of us, except he didn't try to fuck me. He had done nothing wrong and yet he had crossed an unmentionable line that only your brother has access to. We've never talked about it. I'll give him that--he understands my pain, even if he did cause it. She seems different when she's with him. She's certainly no one I ever knew. I wish I could be happy for them but I can't. I want to break them up. I want her to have an affair with my father, then the hurt would bring my brother back and I do want him back."

This longing for his brother grabbed my heartstrings. I wanted Shea to try harder, instead of being passive and watching his brother slip away.

Another bit of reflection I appreciated, from that dark, tabooed voice deep inside:

"It was also around this time I promised myself I would visit art galleries and museums and catch the occasional play. It was obviously one of those fragile moments when you pretend to yourself that you're a better person than you really are, to get through a rough time. I went as far as doing all these cultural exercises but found myself bored senseless, which, in turn, made me feel stupid. I then began to question what it was I actually liked about life and couldn't quite but my finger on it, there being no gun handy. I guess in truth my life really just amount to moments of spontaneity but they were happening less frequently now. I rarely left the house. I think I missed my soap opera friends. I wanted to know what they'd been up to. In my heart I know that this is my level of culture."

And another passage I may have taken too personally:

"The lamp that had mellowed the room earlier was now harsh and I knew I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. The only time I'm frightened for no reason is when I wake in the middle of the night. It's total confirmation that you're off kilter with the rest of the race. Just you and the bogeyman for company; you can't think straight because your head's in a vice; the tiredness is given free rein and determined to fuck up the rest of your body, toying with your nervous system; your gaggle of niggling worries transformed into a devouring host. I pray for a companion but know that it would feel alien. I become mistrustful of touch."

Hughes gives Shea a lot of time to reflect, and most of this story is internal and slow. But several times I did find a particularly good point:

"It seems so simple, but the complication comes with the fact that happiness is dependent on other people. This leaves you with no control, knowing that everything can be taken from you at a moment's notice. But then again, aren't all the lonely people either waiting in anticipation of this person coming along or getting over the break-up of that relationship? Aren't all other emotions a pure smokescreen? Without that smokescreen wouldn't we still be sitting in caves picking nits out of each other's hair? Mistrust of the human race had brought about medical breakthroughs and catalogue shopping."

And towards the end, I particularly liked this rant:

"It struck me the amount of time we waste trying to create good impressions for strangers, the mediocrity of wanting all to think you are pleasant enough, this pathetic need to falsely create an affable fellow. That energy could be put to good use elsewhere. Why are people so frightened of not being liked? 'He was liked by everyone' is a slur on a person's character, not a testament."

Seems I've found a lot to quote from a book I was glad to finish. *grin* 'It's What He Would Have Wanted' was a long story with loads of introspection and self-loathing, and a dash of humor. I particularly loved the imagery where Shea finds his father, and some of the random characters he bumps into left me shaking my head at the strangeness of it all. In a good way. I just wish the pace would have been a little faster, the emotional arc a little more complete.

Overall, I give this book two out of five stars for meaningful introspection.