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Waterloo: A Novel Kindle Edition
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"You're in a slump."
Nick Lasseter's boss is talking about his job performance as a reporter for the Waterloo Weekly--but he might as well be talking about Nick's whole life. His current assignment, a profile of a legendary, liberal ex-congressman, is in trouble even before his subject abruptly dies. His sexy girlfriend has spurned him in favor of a muffin magnate. His uncle, a booze-fueled political operative, has decided to crash on Nick's couch after being thrown out of his own house. And Nick's best friends and ex-bandmates seem to spend more and more of their time at the local bar, hazily lamenting a lost golden age of high ideals and low cover charges that suspiciously coincides with their own rapidly-disappearing youth.
When Nick grudgingly agrees to write a piece about a rising female Republican legislator, he stumbles onto a political fight in which the good guys and bad guys start to seem interchangeable. And not even the deceased can be relied on to stick to their stories when Nick gets involved with the late congressman's confidante, a young woman who has her own hidden ties to the town's history. As they search the dim depths of a civic past that's anything but dead and buried, they find that some things never change--things like the moral ambiguity of practical politics and the sad, hilarious cluelessness of young men in love.
Bittersweet and biting, elegiac and sharply observed, Waterloo is a portrait of a generation in search of itself--and a love letter to the slackers, rockers, hustlers, hacks, and hangers-on who populate Austin, Texas--from a formidable new intelligence in American fiction.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherFarrar, Straus and Giroux
- Publication dateNovember 14, 2006
- File size400 KB
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Editorial Reviews
From Publishers Weekly
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
PART ONE
One
His ability to put tasks in sequence was the first thing to go. William Stanley Sabert, the former congressman, ambled into the kitchen, carrying in his good hand, the left one, a glass tumbler. With the weaker hand, the only partially recovered right, he pressed a sheaf of papers to his ribs, but not carefully enough: his attention slipped and then the papers slipped, they fluttered to the floor. Pick them up, he told himself. He could not. Certain capillaries in his brain had gone dry; they dangled like shrunken empty gloves. He couldn’t pick up the legal-pad pages he’d covered with notes or the hearing transcripts or—where did that come from?—the Christmas card that slid out from the sprawl. The notion of retrieving all of it loomed and then faded, as showers of tiny particles, boluses, bits and pieces of the midbrain clot that had just exploded inside his head, infiltrated the network of his vessels. He couldn’t pick up the pages on the floor because first he would have had to put the drinking glass down. He would have had to lean over. He would have had to reach for the papers and clasp them with his good hand. The sequence of steps had escaped him.
It was his third stroke, though, and he did have an idea of the enemy. He fought back. He’d come into the kitchen to fix something to eat. He intended to do that. No matter that making a sandwich was a more complex task than fetching the papers that had fallen. He opened the refrigerator and set his drinking glass on the top shelf next to the orange juice. He closed the refrigerator. He took a bag of English muffins from the breadbox, pulled open the oven door, and placed the bag inside the oven. Next, tuna fish—but as he straightened himself Sabert saw only color, throbbing reds and greens. When the room returned, pale and blurry, his eyes were flooded. He touched his sleeve to his face.
Dishes sat in the sink; errant cashews and flakes of cereal lurked under the cabinets; mice lived in the breadbox. And that was just the kitchen. There were also the hairs clouding the bathroom floor, the towels heaped in a corner, the bottle of chardonnay forgotten in the toilet tank. A shelf in the bedroom closet had collapsed, and a hail of campaign buttons and umbrellas and old photographs and the silver serving forks from his first marriage (Delia had taken the spoons) had landed among shoes and old pine inserts. For all his storied acuity, his talent for clarification, for cutting through legislative knots in a few incisive strokes, Will Sabert had always been a force of entropy.
And now these papers spilled across the linoleum. He’d collected them to show the reporter, to help explain the work that had engaged him over the past year. What a relief, a pleasure, to have stumbled upon such a project, one that gave shape to his solitary days. High time he revealed it to someone. A legal method: he had discovered it, having devoted to that end many weeks of research, quite a lot of sorting through precedent and records of international tribunals. A method to end all wars, this was, entailing minimal adjustments to current statutes and treaty agreements. He had condensed the argument in favor of it, that is to say the argument for ending war, to a simple, watertight petition that could be understood by any high school student. It was clear, after all, that the wars of the twentieth century had been unjust, unnecessary, and without question, inefficient from the point of view of costs. He’d hoped to live long enough to expand his premise into a book, but lately he’d begun to fear otherwise. Hence his plan to go over it all with the reporter. There was some doubt in his mind, though, as to whether the reporter had already come and gone.
The first stroke had been almost twenty years earlier: a tingling on the way to the cafeteria, and by the time he sat down to eat, his hand and arm had gone numb. He pretended to have lost his appetite. By later that afternoon he was back to normal. He went on working just as before.
The next one had followed his retirement. A headache, unlike any headache he’d ever had. Icicles splitting his skull into pieces. A trip to the hospital, a poor prognosis. That time his whole right side crumpled, and proper names hid themselves. He could say the words son and daughter but the names of his own children wouldn’t give themselves up.
Now his mind was beset by a cascade, a closet shelf falling, an avalanche of old possessions. His children, his mother, his first bicycle, his dog. The fountain he and his brother had ridden their bicycles to on the terraced grounds of the state Capitol, a fountain long since bulldozed to make way for office buildings and parking garages. Its water had spouted from pink gargoyles’ mouths: there, one terrible hot day when he was ten or eleven, an older boy trying to hawk a few bruised peaches had taken a swing at Will, after Will had called him a capitalist. He dodged the punch. His little brother Robbie had gotten it instead. Smacked in the face. Bloody nose. Scared to fight, Will had grabbed Robbie’s arm and run away. This was his last memory.
No one was there to see the former congressman back up against the countertop and slide down the cabinet face. His shirt caught against a drawer pull and tore; his hip fractured; his great old moppy head fell to one side and was still.
--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From Booklist
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From The Washington Post
Olsson's novel follows its protagonists, plus a few dozen secondary characters, as they plan, contemplate, protest, ignore and/or mourn the razing of two neglected buildings: a music club beloved by aging hipsters and the former blacks-only library. It's not easy to fill a medium-sized novel with so many characters, so diverse yet convincing. One of the first we meet, Nick Lasseter, is an "underperforming" reporter for the local alternative weekly. We're with him when he decides to drink too many beers at a party celebrating his ex-girlfriend's wedding; though it's not a wise choice, we can sympathize when he announces, in reference to her new fiance, "I'm not getting in a Saab with that guy." It's a testament to Olsson's skill that we feel the very same sympathy for Beverly Flintic, a first-term assemblywoman having an affair with a Republican candidate for governor, who, whenever he gives a campaign speech, silently recites, "One potato, two potato" between each sentence. She hasn't read the bill that she's sponsoring for him, and while that is a much graver offense than making an ass of oneself at a party, somehow we're ready to forgive her, too.
Then there is Andrea Carter, the daughter of a civil rights activist, who still does not understand what made her steal a pair of expensive leather pants from the closet of her father's girlfriend. And Will Sabert, the last old-school liberal of the Texas congressional delegation. He once fell in love with a bookish lady named Eleanor Hix, who rebuffed him with a charming and concise, "Oh, garbage."
The big article that Nick is supposed to write about Rep. Sabert never gets written, in part because it's not easy to sum up in one newspaper article a career's worth of unpleasant political compromises and incremental legislative adjustments. A novel is better suited to the job, one like this, where the company of fully imagined people takes the place of easy resolutions.
Early on, Nick is depressed by a politician's sincerity: "At one time he'd seen all this sort of political talk as a façade and imagined himself capable of puncturing it, of writing about what really went on, behind all the posturing. But gradually he'd concluded that the people doing the posturing believed in their own postures. There was no simple underlying truth behind or beyond." If Nick were a better reporter, he could get some use out of that insight. Olsson seems to have taken it to heart, though, and she has written a funny, intelligent novel about people who are at odds and at home with each other, just like in a real town.
Reviewed by James Whorton Jr.
Copyright 2005, The Washington Post. All Rights Reserved.
From AudioFile
Review
"[An] intricate, ambitious debut novel...With clean, brisk prose, Olsson brings a specific, authentic sense of character, time and place to this story of Texas politicians and muckrakers."
-- "Publishers Weekly""A funny, intelligent novel about people who are at odds and at home with each other, just like in a real town."
-- "Washingtonpost.com""Anna Fields gives another in a string of fine performances...Fields reads with a keen sense of character and a superb sense of timing. She is also adept at making each character seem charming, funny, or serious, as needed, without losing focus on the novel's plot, thus making this Texas story a pleasant diversion that will surely appeal to most listeners."
-- "AudioFile""Olsson's dry irony, nuanced observations and enjoyably moody atmosphere build into a sophisticated portrait of her hometown...A debut to be enjoyed by idealists everywhere, and one bound to get Austin locals gossiping."
-- "Kirkus Reviews""This wry love letter to Austin (formerly Waterloo), Texas, is steeped in nostalgia for the halcyon years of the late 1970s, when the music was fine, the beer was free, and the city seemed awash in addled good humor...Olsson displays an enviably light touch and a deep affection for her hometown."
-- "Booklist" --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.About the Author
Karen Olsson is a writer at large for Texas Monthly and a former editor of the Texas Observer. Her award-winning writing has appeared in the Washington Post, Baffler, The Nation, and other publications. She lives in Austin.
Anna Fields(1965-2006), winner of more than a dozen Earphones Awards and the prestigious Audie Award in 2004, was one of the most respected narrators in the industry. Trained at the Actors Theatre of Louisville, she was also a director, producer, and technician at her own studio, Cedar House Audio.
Product details
- ASIN : B0052Z3IPW
- Publisher : Farrar, Straus and Giroux; First edition (November 14, 2006)
- Publication date : November 14, 2006
- Language : English
- File size : 400 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 320 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #2,480,258 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #1,677 in American Humorous Fiction
- #2,977 in Humorous American Literature
- #3,911 in Humorous Literary Fiction
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Andrea Carter, of The Standard American, meets Nick at a funeral for a public figure, William Stanley Sabert. Apparently Kenneth Lasseter is already known to Andrea, whose deceased father worked with Sabert. Writing an article on the Jim Crow library that is about to be demolished for city renovation, Andrea has done an interview with Sabert; hence her presence at the funeral, the only dark face in the crowd. Nick is attracted to Andrea but is distracted by a scheduled interview with Beverly Flintic, although he has no background information on which to base his questions. That changes when Bones Lasseter gives his nephew a sheaf of papers concerning the bill Flintic has sponsored. Republican Flintic is somewhat concerned about the bill and its furthering of privatization of government agenda, but has been assured that all is in order.
Beverly is well-meaning and over-worked, trying to resolve family issues while representing a constituency that demands more from her than the usual sellout. Bit by bit, moving through a gridlocked urban sprawl, Olsson's protagonists awaken to their mutual concerns. Even, Bones, the crusty Democratic lobbyist, can read the writing on the wall: "It seems like it's all or nothing. There's no more spirit of conviviality." The nostalgic ramblings of these likeable characters reveal a city of conflicts, compromises and the simple urge to succeed in life; these flawed citizens are just like working people anywhere. On the other hand, the grim reality of a shifting economy doesn't slip Olsson's attention, or how easily the important things slip our attention.
Couched in everyday amiability, this novel could be Anywhere, USA, the scene of the privatization of human services, the massive fortunes made by committees who sponsor both litigation and public servants, spreading their greed to special interests. The bottom line: in business, anyone and anything can be bought and repackaged for public consumption. Sound familiar? It should. This process has been repeating itself all over America, the poor disenfranchised by redevelopment projects, their voices silenced by the roar of cash machines, extinct as the trees removed to make way for luxury townhouses. Waterloo is peopled with folks we all know, doing their jobs, surviving day by day with a secret hope of getting ahead somewhere along the line. And here are the smooth-talkers, the political aficionados and their behind-the-scenes bankers, chipping away, with more for the few and less for the many. The unseasoned reporters, one a borderline slacker and the assemblywoman who worries about her family, make this a very human story, a fictionalized city in Texas caught in the politics of the new millennium. Luan Gaines/ 2005.
Nick is assigned to profile newly elected Republican state legislator Beverly, who foxily ran on the values mumbo jumbo. Though married Beverly is having an affair with a gubernatorial candidate, whose muscles are bigger than his IQ. Nick's Uncle Bones tells him that Beverly is pushing a land deal written for her by a national developer claiming economic opportunity for everyone; he ignores how the middle class will pay the tab. Knowing this and her affair are not consumer friendly, Nick thinks of ignoring them, but new reporter African-American Andrea Carter encourages him to break the story.
WATERLOO is a harsh condemnation of the government-industrial-media complex that has permeated much of American society in recent years with Austin serving as the model. The story line employs two interrelated subplots as Nick investigates Beverly while her affairs are also on display. Fans bushed with non war "sacrifice" that shrinks disposable income into the red while swallowing castor oil laws to make us better will enjoy this muckraking exposé of capital politics.
Harriet Klausner
The sound you hear is Billy Lee Brammer spinning in his grave....


