An unsatisfied Midwestern suburban housewife abandons her husband and young son, only resurfacing decades later when she suddenly and inexplicably attacks a prospective presidential candidate. Suddenly drawn back into his mother’s orbit, her failed writer of a son finds himself torn between an opportunity to cash in on the notoriety and the chance to finally learn his mother’s secrets. Along the way, the narrative will connect a disparate crowd of characters including video-game playing hoarders, entitled college students, Norwegian evil spirits, bankers, violinists, soldiers, poets, and the young radicals who brought the Democratic National Convention to a halt in Chicago, 1968.
I know, I know, a 600-page doorbuster of a novel, spanning generations in the lives of a dysfunctional family, set against the backdrop of American history, written by a thirty-something white guy. Sounds like every other over-praised literary novel of this century. But Hill’s tome earns its plaudits through the breadth and span of his imagination. Hill is equally comfortable writing in the milieus of teenage-girl textspeak, video game chatter, corporate America doubletalk, and the language of student radicals across the generation gap.
There are some hiccups along the way, of course. Hill picks his targets selectively, but since they are his own creations they can sometimes feel like strawmen. Maybe there are college-aged women who don’t know the difference between cheating and learning, but it feels awfully convenient. And sure there are video-game nerds who neglect their hygiene and nutritional needs in order to spend more time gaming, but it feels a little mean-spirited. And the sure-handed plotting may, at the conclusion, strike some as wrapping things up too neatly.
Still, The Nix is a worthy example of the best contemporary fiction has to be offer. While the beats may feel familiar, in the right hands they can still entertain and surprise.