Stoner, by John Williams, is not a drug-fueled romp like the title leads one to believe

It's about a University of Missouri professor in the early 20th Century.

“He was nearly sixty years old, and he ought to be beyond the force of such passion, of such love. But he was not beyond it, he knew, and would never be. Beneath the numbness, the indifference, the removal it was there, intense and steady, and it had always been there. … … He had in odd ways given it to every moment of his life, and had perhaps given it most fully when he was unaware of his giving. It was a passion neither of the mind nor of the flesh; rather it was a force that comprehended them both, as if they were but a matter of love its specific substance. To a woman or to a poem, it said simply: Look! I am alive!” 

There’s plenty to point to in the novel Stoner to conclude that it is, ultimately, a sad book. I can’t argue against that completely, and I won’t. John Stoner is born in near poverty, comes to University of Missouri where he decides to study Medieval literature rather than agriculture like his dad wanted him to. Then he meets a woman from out of town, and they fall in love, but she’s got too much mishigas and they are never really in love. They have a kid, but as the marriage deteriorates, Stoner doesn’t get a lot of time with her, even though they are clearly kindred spirits, and she is the sole light in his life besides the study of literature. In the end, he dies, as we all will one day, but not before he also loses out on any hope of becoming successful as an academic or writer, due to some seedy university politics during his middle years. 

I mean, look: I’m never gonna argue that sounds like a laugher of a story. It’s not. The whole book is about loneliness and solitude. But… that paragraph I put at the beginning. Doesn’t that imply that the author doesn’t want us to focus ONLY on the sadness. Part of me wonders if the modern, 21st century perspective that Stoner’s life is miserable all the time is because the things he values (and were valued when the book is set–early 20th century in rural Missouri) are not as common today. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself, because part of what made me want to read this is the phenomenon of the book’s newfound popularity itself. Published in 1965, but taking place mostly between World War I and post World War II on the campus of the University of Missouri, it wasn’t a huge hit, though the author did have a successful career. However, some time around 2000 it started to draw a following, in 2014 it got listed in the New York Times as a book people have to read–mind you, I still had never heard of it, and nor had my mom, who reads a million books a year, conservatively speaking– and then finally, as I’m trawling along Reddit under r/literature, I keep seeing post after post discussing the book. 

A book called Stoner from the 60s? What is this, some proto Burroughs drug-fueled odyssey through seedy underbellies of American cities? 

No. No it was not. 

This intrigued me even more, as the story’s setting predated the publication of the book by half a century! When the book came out, it was already talking about ‘the old days’, so now that’s ‘the really old days’! Why were people suddenly aflutter about this slim little novel about a quiet white guy, who was obsessed with being a good teacher? I took it out of the library, and finished it by the end of the week. 

What compelled me through page after page of loneliness was how Stoner… didn’t mind loneliness sometimes? Sometimes the solitude felt peaceful. Sometimes the solitude was between him and one or two others: the early sections where he has two buddies he drinks with after classes while still an undergrad; the later sections where his daughter comes into his office while he is working, and she ‘works’ at her little desk beside him. Then there are moments where the old boy shows he’s got some fight in him, like when a vengeful colleague tries to give him the worst class schedule, and he fights back, ultimately getting what he wants. 

The best way I can describe the effect of reading Stoner is like that Sinatra tune ‘Glad to be Unhappy’. In that song, the narrator explains that when you’re unhappy because of something good, someone you love who left, it’s almost a good feeling. It’s a solid, real feeling that reminds you of being human and of being alive. The book reminds you of being alive. 

I remember discussing this same phenomenon with an older couple, nearly two decades ago. The man and I agreed that we don’t mind being sad sometimes, and in fact it’s welcome and calming as long as it doesn’t sink us into depression of course. I’ve noticed when I get anxious or angry, the thing that makes me feel better is never listening to happy music, but listening to very soft sad music. When I tried to understand why, the best I came up with was that sadness calms me down because it reminds me that things go in cycles. Whatever upset me, or made me anxious about the future, fearing I’d ruined everything–it will pass. Things may not ever become perfect, but that particular thing will pass, and I am allowed to be calm, and sit with my feelings instead of being anxious and angry and afraid. 

Now, I’m not worried about ‘spoiling’ a sixty-year old book, and considering it’s not big on plot anyway, there’s not a lot to spoil. I will say, though, that when it ends, and Stoner passes away, he seems happy to have lived his life the way he wanted to live it. Some things sucked, sure, but a lot of other things were beautiful, and he got to do what he wanted to do most–to teach the literature he loved.