Chloe Faith

“Books like this make life worth living.”—I stumbled upon review after review, heard such a claim, became convinced, and went out of my way to purchase a copy of John William’s “Stoner”. Recently I found my mind getting duller, grayer within the past year and I came to the agreement that the cause had to do with how Antoine de Saint-Exupéry successfully describes it in his “The Little Prince”: Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves. At first I dealt with it as if such were a temporary season to be endured in my early twenties; one that would eventually pass and resolve on its own. But the longer I waited, the more I felt the effects would be permanently engraved in my personality. And so that became the start of my search for the antidote where I knew lay hidden somewhere in the habits of my past self. Where contentedness wasn’t sought for but simply existed: reading fiction and envisioning its stories. Not long after my completion of Randy Pausch’s “The Last Lecture” earlier last month I perused the internet for suggestions for my next book, preferably fiction this time. I came across John William’s “Stoner” along with the riveting reviews from dozens of online strangers. “Books like this make life worth living.” I started Stoner with such unjust expectations. I was constantly waiting for the punchline or the “ah-ha!” moment that was, in hindsight, never necessarily promised to me. Chapter after chapter, I never found it. Disappointment grew as I entertained the mindset of “I started it, I might as well finish it.” It wasn’t until I accepted the book as-is did I genuinely start to enjoy it and read all 278 pages did I concur with what everyone else who loved it had to say about it. Stoner is not an extraordinary story. In fact, it’s probably too ordinary. Some may even call it boring—I would understand. I won’t guarantee every person who reads it would find it as alluring. But...it is the ordinariness and mundane life of William Stoner that made this book so special. You are with this man when he is born up until the moment of his very last breath and before you realize it, you end up caring for a person who isn’t, and will never be, aware of your existence. What charmed me most about Stoner was his stoicism fueled not by the structure of his character, rather that of his acceptance of the nature of life and all that it entails. Stoner’s life wasn’t tragic, but it wasn’t the most fulfilling either. It was only until I finished Stoner did I understand what “Books like this make life worth living” finally meant. Maybe not in the manner it was intended but in a way that made sense to me: You read about a man who lived his life with regrets so you wouldn’t have to. And it’s with this realization do you get the liberty to make your life worth living before it’s too late.