A Review of Wayne Cresser’s The Book of Norman
The Book of Norman, by Wayne Cresser. American Publishing Studios, 2024. 214 pages. $19.95, hardcover $15.95, paper
by Fred Shaw
According to the writer D. William Landsborough, archetypes “are like classes or templates of characters that make use of common experiences, traits, and actions to make them recognizable to most people… Archetypes tell a universal truth that transcends time, geography, culture, and many of the differences that people experience.” Archetypes abound in literature and mythology with scholars like Joseph Campbell building off of the ideas of psychologist Carl Jung in his compelling masterpiece, Hero with a Thousand Faces. One of Jung’s archetypes, the everyman, or common person “tries to lead a simple life. They work hard, get along with pretty much everyone, and are content with their world. A Common Person is authentic, and that authenticity means they are immediately likable to both the reader and other characters.”
That definition more than fits the bill for a middle-aged Norman Winters, the protagonist who inhabits and centers each of the eighteen stories in Wayne Cresser’s short-story collection, The Book of Norman (NJW Press, $19.95). The collection, mostly set along the Rhode Island coast where Cresser lives as a retired professor from Dean College, is full of the kind of stories that feature both Norman’s willingness to gain insight from his experiences in the everyday world and his cluelessness as to how he gets into predicaments in the first place. It feels familiar yet never formulaic as it’s hard to root against Norman, especially when his voice carries through Cresser’s keen ear for humor.
In “Happiness is a Warm Gun (Summer 1969),” Norman and his brother Murray are learning the ropes of marksmanship at a Boy Scout camp with Tiger Darling, a former Marine, providing instruction. The power dynamic on the shooting range plays as imagined with macho tension provided by Tiger sporting “paratrooper pants and dark shades” in conflict with Norman who aligns himself more with the older boys wearing “tousled hair longer than dad would ever allow…dark shades, like the ones he’d seen in recent pictures of John Lennon…they were from a town called Cohasset, and he figured that place had to be right next to Coolsville.” Though Norman would like nothing more than “diving into the dark and cool water” of the lake, he instead sits “in a cross-legged position, reminiscent of an Indian…seated at a fire, passing the peace pipe.” The absurdity of it all feels too good to be true but as the comic writer Donna Cavanagh once instructed, “turn mortification into mirth.”
Mirth has its fingerprints all over these stories, a balance that in lesser hands can tilt into the corny or hyperbolic, though a title like “The Last Time Norm Took Acid” is a sure attention-grabber. What begins as a seemingly chance encounter with a college friend who “split a tab of acid” for the both of them long ago on NYC 34th Street, before searching for Macy’s to get a picture taken with Old St. Nick. The moment allows Norman, now a community college professor, to explore how “inept he was at all that” and through twists and turns which include an AMC Rebel with no reverse and a student named Jonah, whose emails and complaints over a test on James Joyce’s The Dubliners, gives Norman reflective pause. That Norman doesn’t perceive this interaction as a “battle of wills,” only makes the metaphor apt: “college is Jonah’s whale, and unlike his biblical counterpart, this Jonah might be striving so earnestly to succeed that he occasionally misses the finer points.” It’s a moment of grace more educators should strive toward.
Things get a bit more metaphysical in the thoughtful, “Follow,” which begins: “After drowning while quahogging in frigid waters, Norm was surprised that he could hang around for his wake.” It’s a twisty, meditative peace that hits just the right notes, between referencing Richie Havens as “Dead zombie music,” and characterizing Norm as “a man who believed in love. And whenever Margaret sang, that’s what the music sounded like to him.” The chronology Cresser employs with the stories works in the Book of Norman’s favor and makes his character relatable through the changes and concerns that come and go over a lifespan.
The middle-aged love story also gets justice in “Two for the Price of One” with Norman fretting over a frozen turkey left by his unrequited love-interest, Margaret. The dialogue feels natural and gives Cresser a moment to praise the music of The Kinks, with Margaret sharing, “she admired the detail in their old songs about everyday people. ‘They make you notice the wallpaper,’ she said. ‘They sit you down in their parents’ parlors. Now who else in rock’ n’ roll ever did that?’” The story captures the perspective of potential love but at a different time in life that Cresser proves is still vulnerable to the inverse of carpe diem.
One section in the story feels reminiscent of the elegies written by the criminally under-appreciated poet Robert Gibb, where Norman explains, “Margaret…knew about these things, especially herbs. She didn’t necessarily know their uses, but she knew their names and smells. She’d break off little pieces, rub them between her fingers, and then hold her hands up to me. ‘Smell this!’ she’d say. I’d inhale and feel like she was sharing something special. Our hands would touch, or I’d brush her fingers with my nose and feel a strong urge to kiss them. In this way, she was breaking my heart.” The ending lands with hope, and along with a DJ’s love of music, the collection features canines in different forms.
A favorite, “Go, Dog. Go! Stay Dog. Stay!” captures the relationship between man and beast in an early scene. “He left the bed, stepping over the sleeping dog on the floor, then paused. Bending over the quiet rising chest, he kissed him on his furry head and asked for his forgiveness, as he’d done for longer than he could remember.” That the story evolves from Norman’s faults and shows him capable of change is yet another aspect of his story arc throughout this readable collection that leans on the lighthearted and concise storytelling. In many ways, Wayne Cresser’s The Story of Norman embodies in the best possible way Shakespeare’s old saw from Hamlet: “Brevity is the soul of wit.”
Fred Shaw is a longtime book reviewerand a graduate of the University of Pittsburgh where he’s currently a Visiting Lecturer of Creative Writing. He serves on the advisory board for the International Poetry Forum and is the author of Scraping Away, his debut poetry collection published by CavanKerry Press. He lives in Pittsburgh with his wife and recued hound dogs.