Nick Flynnmessy EMOTIONS E R by Christopher Busa R F E a T U R E S I D N a L
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140-160 6/14/06 1:50 AM Page 140 C O V Nick FlynnMESSY EMOTIONS E R By Christopher Busa R F E A T U R E S I D N A L . P . M Y B O T O H BY CHRISTOPHER BUSA P 140-160 6/14/06 1:50 AM Page 141 That Man’s Father Is My Father’s Son bitterness, and small-heartedness, which is bliss- city in Egypt. The Sphinx had the face of an enig- fully absent from the published work. matic woman. Anyone who wished to enter or Writers collaborate with their first readers, the exit the ancient city was obliged to answer a ques- ick Flynn has a swimmer’s body, friends and editors who shape the way the story tion. A wrong answer, and the monster devoured with long smooth muscles condi- becomes presented as a finished work of art, the traveler. The Sphinx fattened on those who tioned from plunging into whatev- launched from the author into the ocean of pub- failed this riddle: What has four legs in the morn- er body of water is close by. lic domain. Here is contemporary resonance with ing, two legs at noon, and three legs at night? Swimming is Flynn’s way of sub- T. S. Eliot’s aim in his writing to separate the In Sophocles’ classic play Oedipus Rex, the hero merging himself in a cleansing medium. artist from the person who wrote the poem. demonstrates cunning intelligence by answering, N Flynn said, “I encourage my students to correctly, that this creature is man, crawling when Provincetown is all about water, and his work has much water in it. The Nick I’d known for many engage the messier emotions to get at what the he is an infant, standing on two feet in the prime years came to Provincetown to talk with me last trouble is. A lot of memoirs these days seem to of his life, and then walking with a cane in his late year in the middle of December, and we had a strike a heroic stance—I’m the one who has fig- hours. The solution of the riddle destroyed the catch-up conversation during the holiday sea- ured it out, who survived, or am the victim who creature that asked the question. The Sphinx son—with no intention of jumping in the cold overcame some tragedy. This pose rings false. committed suicide; from its acropolis, this mys- water with the group from a local bar, the Old Still there’s self-pity in this book, but it’s tem- tery with wings now toppled to the terrain where Colony, who make an annual dive into the icy bay. pered, hopefully. I’d rather the reader come to it, humans walked, where they could feel the spongy Flynn’s memoir, Another Bullshit Night in Suck than have it be presented by me.” path in the padded toes of their own feet. City (Norton, 2004), a national best seller, was ______ As an adult, another riddle haunts Flynn: broadly acclaimed for its artful recollections of Brothers and sisters I have none, the author’s emergence from a broken home. Three stately cliffs rise from the shore along the But that man’s father is my father’s son. town of Scituate, just south of Boston. Nick His growth as a writer had exceeded my under- ______ standing, and I needed to connect. In the fall I Flynn, born 1960, the son of a single mother, went to hear him talk at Suffolk University in grew up here, spending a lot of time in his grand- In Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, Flynn says Boston as part of a book tour for his memoir. mother’s attic where, I imagined, a small window that the drawing accompanying this riddle On the podium, he mentioned the just-released gave a peek of the ocean. showed “a man on a sidewalk, pointing vaguely film Capote, which I had seen the night before. Flying in an almost-empty commuter plane into a crowd. After a year I decided the guy was Something about alcoholism and death seemed from Boston to Provincetown on Cape Air, the looking into a mirror, just to put it out of my connected to Flynn’s life and work, but also view framed by the window gave me the feeling mind. Years later I realized I was wrong.” something about the power of writing to trans- that I was navigating Google Earth on my com- Flynn’s memoir conveys the way memory form the sordid into a language that saves. The puter. I viewed the coastline and wondered about chafes against time, shaping the story until, at a students were enthralled by Flynn’s natural abil- the turf where Flynn spent his boyhood. I was the certain point as random as the way a piece of ity to speak directly to their concerns. The acces- only passenger on this particular flight. I saw driftwood finds its way to the shore, the thing sible author said things that made sense to North River, which a map told me separated the that is weathered is a record of its own history. As them. Fred Marchant, a poet who directs the harbors of Scituate and Humarock. At this time Norman Mailer, another Provincetown beach- university’s creative writing program, was there of day, the sun at a low slant, the river showed its comber, said, “Form is the physical equivalent of making sure everybody used the opportunity to serpentine form, twisting as much side to side as memory.” Flynn’s quest for identity takes the meet each other. flowing toward open water. The river’s surface form of someone “pointing vaguely into a The university produced an oversize poster shone dully as an undercurrent meandered crowd,” and picking out his exact subject. announcing Flynn’s visit, but they put some toward its purpose. Ripples were flecked with The details in his book of prose flesh out asterisks in the title of his memoir, much like the flashes of color. The weak winter yellow of the information left out of his two books of poetry, New York Times did when they reviewed the book. sun gave wan light and little heat, and the surface Some Ether and Blind Huber. Flynn’s prose main- Something obscene lurked in the words of the looked like unpolished, hammered gold—inspir- tains casual dialogue with the power of poetry to title, and some unprintable vowels from “bull- ing country for a budding poet. I watched to see offer sharp inflections of insight. His father, the shit” and “suck” were obliged to be excised. if I could spot a rickety pier that I thought fig- absent person who figures so prominently in the I had pinned the poster to a wall in my office. ured in Flynn’s writing. I saw First Cliff, Second son’s memoir, insisted that the easiest mark in a Nick took one look and said, “Oh, good, you got Cliff, and Third Cliff, looking keenly to see which bank is a teller who is young and attractive. my poster. I lost mine. I had two and was taking roads had hairpin turns at their summits, for one Flynn’s mother worked in a bank. She was young the train back to New York, right after I saw you. of them may have been the twist where Nick lost and attractive. Even as Flynn summons his Suddenly it wasn’t in my hand. I went to the control of his motorcycle fifteen years ago and father’s flirtatious manner in a number of scenes, bathroom and it wasn’t there. Vanished.” went flying over the handlebars. He had forgot- his writing balances a callous father with the very Flynn has left things behind before, but what ten that a girl held him around his waist—and definition of a nurturing mother. has vanished has also returned. At the conference where was she and was she OK? He tumbled and Following high school, Nick delayed going to I had acquired two copies of the poster for the landed in a field of tall elephant grass, which college, despite the fact that he had graduated in archives of the magazine. I offered one to Nick. cushioned his near-fatal fall. Losing an impor- the top 10 percent of his class. He worked as a car- His visage on the poster is sad; he looks a little tant but non-vital organ, Flynn took a rest for a penter, and then trained with an electrician who homeless himself, although that is impossible year. taught him to work with live current to get over since he recently purchased a house along the In his preschool days, while his mother was his fear of electricity. Sparks, many times, show- Hudson Valley in Athens, New York. He seldom working, Flynn spent a lot of hours at his grand- ered around him. Screwdrivers melted in his hand. is home, and his brother, Thaddeus, mostly mother’s reading books that had been stored When Flynn was a toddler, his father aban- maintains the residence. Nick teaches in Texas away. He liked illustrated collections in which a doned the family. At twenty-one, when other stu- one semester a year, and much of the rest of the picture showed what the words meant. He found dents his age were graduating, Flynn enrolled at time he is zipping around the country doing a book of riddles with drawings, and he went the University of Massachusetts at Amherst.