Customer Reviews

Stones of Summer

5 star:		(30)
4 star:		(3)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(14)
1 star:		(25)

 

 

I, like a lot of people, read this book after seeing "Stone Reader." Basically, I wanted to know what kind of book would inspire such a great movie. The answer to that is complicated, but the upshot is that I enjoyed reading this book very much.

The three parts of this book have very different styles from each other. The first part reads more like poetry than prose. There are rich descriptions that leave more of an impression rather than a telling. The second part focuses on dialog with much fewer descriptions. I found the dialogs to be very real. The third part uses out-of-time-line narrative, writings (including the start of a novel) by the main character, letters from other characters, and other techniques. The overall impression is that this novel is like James Joyce's Ulysses: a massive and well-constructed work. I am amazed that a first-time writer could create this book.

As to the story, there can be no doubt that the main character has few redeeming values; he is difficult to like. He and his "friends" (does he really form any real relationships with anyone?) do many violent and vicious things to themselves and others. How can you like that? In some ways, though, Dawes Williams reminds me of Ignatius Reilly in "A Confederacy of Dunces". Both characters are quite repulsive. Ignatius has none of Dawes' violent nature. Where Ignatius' life seems to always backfire on him, Dawes' life seems to result from Dawes' explicit attack on it. Repulsive, violent, vicious--what's to like about that?

For me, though, I like the book. I find the construction and prose to be incredible. There is a wit and creativity behind this book I admire even if I don't admire the characters in it.

Let me begin by saying that, had I discovered this book on my own, without Mark Moskowittz's STONE READER documentary, I would have been recommending it to every serious reader I know. I approached it with some reservation, expecting to find an overhyped work that had gone out of print for good reason, but I was utterly captivated within the first five pages. Fifty pages in, I was saying "Wow!"

Dow Mossman's THE STONES OF SUMMER seems to attract a remarkable degree of vitriol from reviewers. Readers apparently either love it or hate it, perhaps somewhat the way people respond to modern art. It is surely a far from perfect work, but rather than pick nits about individual sentences and images, I found myself reading right through them, accepting them for the atmosphere they create as if I was reading poetry. For me, at least, the story flowed into a larger societal picture that resonated with the sense of betrayal and despair generated by the antiwar, counterculture movement of the late 1960's.

THE STONES OF SUMMER is a remarkable first novel, and sadly, an apparently last novel as well. As past reviews suggest, it is also not everyone's cup of tea. This book is not a mindless summer read, nor is it a page-turning thriller. But readers whose tastes run to Saramago, Pynchon, DeLillo, Faulkner, or Garcia Marquez are likely to find Dow Mossman's book intriguing and enjoyable (if less polished), a deeply felt story wrapped in prose so exuberant, so manically transcendent, it practically leaps off the page and grabs you by the throat. Unlike so many popular works (Ludlum, Grisham, King, Cussler, Clancy, etc.) whose stories are as memorable as last week's hot dog, this is a book you will never forget.

On its surface, THE STONES OF SUMMER tells the coming of age story of Iowa-born Dawes Oldham Williams (D.O.W.) in three segments. The first takes place when a precocious, eight year old Dawes visits his grandfather's racing greyhound farm during summer vacation, with flashbacks to Dawes' relationship and adventures with a troublemaking friend named Ronnie Crown. The second segment occurs 7-10 years later, during Dawes' rather wild and crazy high school years, ending in tragedy on his last night at home before college. The final section takes place another ten years later and finds Dawes on his way to, and living in, Mexico, still trying to cope with personal losses, hopelessness, and borderline schizophrenia.

Each section of the book speaks in its own voice. The opening, 1949-1950 segment is densely written, filled with the soaring, spiraling imagery for which the book is best known. We are introduced to Dawes' ineffectual, Donna Reed mother and nearly as bland stepfather, a dark and imposing grandfather with a hair-trigger temper and dog-eat-dog temperament reminiscent of Joe McCarthy, and a sybil-like neighbor woman named Abigail Winas who raises chickens and all but reads their entrails. The second section, 1956-1961, is more chronologically told in somewhat more straightforward prose and dialog, suggesting the sexual and cultural revolution just then beginning. The final section, 1967-1968, is almost hallucinatory, filled with journal writings, letters, a short novel by Dawes, and a story line about sanity, drugs, Vietnam, and the sexual revolution.

THE STONES OF SUMMER deals with the great American awakening from 1950 to 1968, culminating with the tragedy of the Vietnam War and the death of American innocence. It is a novel about personal identity and individuality, alienation, the role of history (both personal and national), and the relativity of truth. In the end, it is also a story of rebellion against tradition and cultural mores and the burdens falling upon those who rebel. The message is classic, the execution is powerful, the story is tragic. Writing in 1972, Mossman proved prescient about the absurdity of American culture and political values, going so far as to conjecture about the ridiculous notion of Ronald Reagan as a President! Dawes Williams would have laughed until he cried if he had seen what has come to pass with the Bush Administration's manufacturing of its own history with regard to Iraq: WMD's, toppling Saddam's statue, Jessica Lynch, the Thanksgiving turkey, "Mission Accomplished," "We're making good progress. They all love us," and the like. He had seen the enemy, and it was us. Aaatttssssss Dawes!

There is certainly room for valid criticism of this book. The female characters lack depth, the prose is sometimes just too extravagant, the literary allusions lack subtlety, some of the dialog is pretentious to the point of self-parody, and the Huck Finn references (particularly Dawes having a girlfriend named Becky Thatcher) are overplayed. Yet despite these drawbacks, Dow Mossman masterfully captures America's own coming of age story in a way few authors have.

The main character of The Stones of Summer is an amiable genius who accepts and accommodates (and in turn is accepted and accommodated by) a group of decent friends of average abilities with nicknames like "Dunker."

The novel is divided into three books. The first is artfully written even though it has some rough edges, especially in the first few pages. It tells the story of the main character's family going back multiple generations on his mother's side. The point of this book seems to be that genius runs in families and makes life interesting but doesn't necessarily solve problems. The book evokes a sense of loss and former (or near) grandeur, and even tragedy, that one normally associates with Fitzgerald or Faulkner. Some of the metaphors misfire, but there is a lyrical quality to the book that makes you feel you're in the presence of a shaman. The main character is only eight years old but converses with his elders as an equal. There is nothing surreal about this.

The second book tells the story of the main character's adolescence. This book is raucously funny and has a Mark Twain quality about it. The cameraderie of the main character and his buddies embodies the best that adolescence has to offer; their feckless and reckless boyishness embodies the worst. The treatment of the main character's genius in this book is subtle, but consistent, and I wasn't surprised when the gang is playing pool and a folded piece of paper pulled from the main character's back pocket as he makes a bank shot turns out to be a sensitive poem that his friends ridicule without mercy, to the delight of the entire poolhall. Midway through this book, the narrator says of the main character, "He would always live here, in this place, among these stones, this grass. And he would always be locked up within, the knots of dreams." Yet this book ends with a sense that the main character's destiny will be shaped by his genius and his shamanic insights and his poetry.

The meaning of the second book doesn't really sink in until you're well into the third book, which reveals that the main character was only 12 when he was "insane for the first time. He never talked about it. No one knew. Because, you see, that was the first time he knew, as an absolute certainty, he had a soul as big and lovely as Jesus Christ. Also for the first time, he knew and felt the heavenly damnation of that burden, like being caught in the exact center of a baroque operetta, people singing and running off with exploding harps in every direction.... He stood, not believing civilization, yet wanting to come closer, as if he had just seen the Godhead itself rise up nameless and without need of a face, as if he must run and tell us about it now, quickly, before it vanished again into wherever it goes when it isn't here." The main character's genius runs amok in this book, with serious consequences.

This is a big book, nearly 600 pages, and it has enough flaws that it requires a certain amount of effort to steam through. Even so, I would put it on a par with A Confederacy of Dunces as a book of ideas and as the product of a Platonist genius. I would put it on a part with Look Homeward, Angel, as the work of someone observant of and intoxicated by the life within and without him. It is one of the most remarkable and most memorable first novels that I've ever read. Dow, you're lost and by the wind grieved. Come back again!

If nothing else, this book seems to be a Rorschach for online reviewers. Here's my "clear-headed" take on it:

The book was a chore for me, which I undertook mainly because of its reportedly transcendent possibilities. I was able to grit it out, partly not to be a quitter, but also because the journey kept flinging nuggets of brilliant invention in my path, intense images and perspectives that I found resonant and moving, well above my usual reading fare. FWIW, the author did convince me of his intellect (which I believe was one of his minor aims).

In this very long book, I consistently sensed the author's attentive presence in every metaphor-dense line, and never once saw him lapse into mere typing. Finally, though, I suspect that all his unique and remarkable visions (the ones that reached me, anyway) could have been delivered in half as many pages.

The Stones of Summer went down like a blood transfusion; hot! hot! hot! I laughed to see that some of the reviews were porking Mossman with the name of Proust: ironically, that's just what the Dawes' childhood friends would have said, little chuckleheads--- and they'd be wrong and Dawes loves 'em for trying. No, I saw every writer in this Writer: Mossman is Virginia Woolf, Miguel Angel Asturias, James Joyce, Cervantes, Mark Twain, Keri Hume (for me). This is great Midwestern literature. I feel I've been gifted with the reprint of this book, and I hope it never goes out of print again. Through the vehicles of wit, poetry, and brainstuff, the novel becomes in the end, a soul on paper. It is a must-read for all writers and serious readers. I'm buying a copy my struggling artist friends and for my grandpa, let's see if he can take the kick!

I first picked this book up when I was in high school. The copyright says 1972. The original price for the paperback was $1.50, but I got it for fifty cents at the used book store. I still have this copy - the cover is getting brittle though, and the pages are yellow and coming unglued. That's why I'm glad that the film inspired a re-release of the book.

The book is in three sections. Each section has its own tone. I used to love the second section (coming of age), the best, but the first section has definitely grown on me. The third section is still too dark for me.

I have read the book many times. I loved it when I was young. The style is quite original, but reminds me the most of Kesey, I guess (in Sometimes a Great Notion). Some parts are quite funny, and some are touching or tragic. I think the best accomplishment of the writing is the ability to set a tone, which gets the reader right into the situations depicted in the book.

Highly recommended, but not for the casual reader.

I have read this book three times in the last few months. It is a difficult, very complicated book. In fact it is perhaps one of the most detailed and intricate books I have ever read and in many ways more dense than The Forty Days of Musa Dagh or Ulysses or Beloved. The first time through was a murky muddy read, and I must admit I almost put it away on several occasions. The second time through however, and the pieces began to fit together, and the bulkiness of Mossman's writing style was no longer a hindrance. The third time through and I must say that I think I truly understand what Mossman was trying to do, and there is no other way to put it, but this is perhaps one of the greatest works ever written. One might argue that for a work to be great it should be great from the first read, and that it shouldn't take three or four reads. Well, I guess there is some truth in that, however, I guess the best analogy would be with jazz music. How many of us who are used to listening to easy music would appreciate the abstract complexities of Ornette Coleman or John Cotraine the first time through? Some of Coltrain's runs are so abstract and are played with such speed that truly one would have to be a musician in order to appreciate what he is doing with only one listen. And I truly believe it is the same with The Stones of Summer. This book is so good that, simply put, it is beyond good. It is in the realm of pure art. It is saddening to think that many of the reviewers would only read the first twenty pages of something this bulky and awesome, and then capriciously come to the conclusion that it is only worth being a "doorstop." The voice of Dawes Williams is such a powerful American voice, and in the first twenty pages the surface hasn't even been scratched yet. It is true you must be an advanced reader to read this book - or at least be willing to become an advanced reader. Is this elitism? Maybe a little. But it seems a little ridiculous to buy a hard book and then turn around when you realize you are out of your league to complain that it should be a "doorstop." If you can't take the heat, stick to Michael Connelly or Stephen King, or if these are too difficult, try the next installment of Jackie Collins.

I think this book has been adequately reviewed here. Most of the time I would say that any book that generates this kind of feedback is worth reading. I am unsure whether this book is worth reading. I must admit that I was disappointed.

But I think I was disappointed because of the hype. It is rare in our culture that literature gets any recognition at all in our society. I saw the Stone Reader guy on the Today show of all places. He convinced me not only to read the book, but also to look forward to reading a lost American treasure.

This book is no treasure - see above and below. The only thing I'll add to the the reviews is that I never seemed to care very much about the characters, no matter what happened to them. I never got to know them. And at time overwritten? Yes, I found myself occasionally skipping paragraphs, which I never, ever do.

But I think the acerbic responses here are partly due to intelligent readers feeling duped by effective marketing and one guy's enthusiasm. If I had stumbled upon this book on my own, I wouldn't have loved it but I wouldn't have thought it was worthless either. Simply put, it has the faults of many first novels.

Read this book if you want. You may like it. Some readers here definitely did. But I have to admit that I was glad to see some of these sanctimonius reviewers feeling duped - they make a lot of effort here to seem superior.

Every serious reader of serious literature has personal favorites that aren't accepted in the general canon...which may even be hard to defend on conventional critical grounds. I myself love Luke Rhinehart's "The Dice Man" and Jean Stafford's "The Catherine Wheel"--novels that (among many others) have a certain cult following but otherwise haven't really gained any stature with time, or managed to stay in print.

This is offered as preamble to another (mostly) negative review of Dow Mossman's long-out-of-print magnum opus (his only opus, in fact). The documentary "Stone Reader" created extraordinary expectations around this epic debut, because the filmmaker's enthusiasm about it and finding its creator after 30 years was so inspirationally passionate.

So, it turns out "Stones" (which I happened to get in a first edition hardcover from a local library system--but only because all the recent reprints were checked out) is one of those garrulous, unfocused, under-structured gasps of "writerly" excess that were not uncommon in the 60s and early 70s. Back then those qualities were taken for evidence of unfettered creativity. When they occur now (see: David Foster Wallace), they can signify the same, or just an editor who's asleep at the wheel. (The latter is apparently an industry-wide problem at present--and the brilliant but undisciplined Foster Wallace is its worst-case-scenario.)

"The Stones of Summer" is the sound of a youthful writer in love with the propulsion and lilt of his own words. Those qualities don't necessarily translate for a reader, however, and there's no question that the forced lyricism and digressive indulgence here overwhelm whatever small narrative force/character-psychological insight Mossman has to offer. Barely a sentence passes without the author describing something simple as "like" something meaninglessly fancier--"the sun dying before them like the insides of a stone melon, split and watery, halving with blood," to quote from the book's very first paragraph. All this filigree comes at the cost of anything more involving. The author doesn't seem much interested in direct reader contact, anyhow. He's too busy trying to dazzle us.

That said, "Stones" reveals a genuine writer--too bad he never got further chances to hone his craft. For all its indulgence, the bloated, barely interesting novel still suggests Mossman might've created great things had he stuck to it--and had the publishing industry stood behind him after this first critically-acclaimed, commercially-dire effort.

I'm tired of reading of people who "saw the movie and couldn't WAIT to read the book..." The book stands apart from the documentary and they have absolutely nothing to do with each other.

To judge this novel based on what 'Stone Reader' fans think would be a crime. 'Stone Reader' is a love letter to all literature, to be shared with all people who love to read. 'Stones of Summer,' on the other hand, is not for everyone; it is a book of ideas and will be treasured by those who love ideas, and by those who will not be scared away after a mere 100 pages.

Easily one of the best books I've ever read. But don't create expectations that have anything to do with the 'Stone Reader' documentary.