Fountain City

by Michael Chabon

Hidden somewhere deep inside me is the seed of a failed author.  I used to think that there were tons of novel or short story ideas growing like mushrooms somewhere hidden within my mind, and with age and very little perseverance, came the realization that I had not the slightest clue how one would go about becoming a writer.

The four chapters of Fountain City, released as part of the latest issue of McSweeney's, help illustrate the difficulties of the novelist's craft, and the lasting frustration it can hold for a writer.  Chabon worked on Fountain City for years before finally abandoning it as unworkable.  In this slim book, he has resurrected the first four chapters, and heavily annotated them with observations and reminiscences of his intent, antecedents, influences, and mistakes.  The work itself definitely had potential, but it quickly becomes clear that Chabon did not know where to take it, or at least, how to effectively get it where he wanted it to go.  The annotations provide valuable insight into his mindspace, and into the craft of writing in general.

I find it interesting that while I read about Harry Klezmer's search for a home, and lust for travel, I was engaged, but when I got to the end, I had no interest in continuing to read the story.  That, more than anything, is proof that Chabon made the right call in giving up on this book.  I am glad, however, that he has, like a terminal patient's physician in a teaching hospital, turned it into a good opportunity for others to learn.