Richard Ford keeps it brief and powerful
by John Sewell
Novelist Richard Ford has seen fit to spend the last few years concentrating his efforts on short stories, resulting in the best creative era of his career—at least so far. His latest collection, A Multitude of Sins ($25/Knopf), finds the author at the top of his game, effortlessly reaching new peaks with each tale. And considering the stack of important works Ford already had to his credit, including The Sportswriter, Rock Springs, Independence Day and the fabulous Women With Men, among others, that's high praise indeed.
Ford finds his greatest strength writing about relationships during those tenuous midlife moments when everything seems meaningless and anything is possible. The last gasp desperation of moderately  successful WASPs usually evidences itself in the form of adultery, which seems to be the theme of the stories in Sins. And adultery is just the kind of moral netherworld where Ford is at his best.
Unlike most people in real life, Ford's characters' inner dialogues seem to be brutally honest: they're fully aware of their sociopathic tendencies and that's just fine—provided they don't get caught. And if they do get caught, well, that's just another calculated risk to be dealt with when and if it's necessary.
But we all know that straight-arrow, virtuous characters are a bore. That's why the fatal flaw is a mark of great literature. And that's why the arena of adultery works so well for Ford.
In "Reunion" a businessman happens to run into the husband of one of his former lovers in Grand Central Station. The protagonist decides, just on a whim, to approach the cuckolded man, "...not to impart anything, or set in motion any particular action (to clarify history, for instance, or make amends) but simply to create an event where before there was none."
As with most of the stories collected in Sins, this provocative encounter leads to a bit of predictable friction, but not exactly to a explosive point. Instead, Ford steers clear of the easy obvious route by communicating the isolation and emptiness that is the usual realistic result of betrayal—both for the betrayer and for the betrayed. Most of the characters in the collection manage to sideswipe catharsis—or at least to internalize it. Or, they seek out the friction that comes with the exposure of their dalliances, just to see what will happen.
Ford's plot structures and deft storytelling skills are not the only selling points of Sins. The conversational dialogues are presented in artfully wrought cadences that almost approach poetry, yet avoid melodramatic clichés.
"Charity" finds a married couple attempting to rekindle their relationship on vacation after the husband's affair. Nancy, the betrayed wife, is torn between anger and a need to regain a comfortable relationship with her husband—whom she still likes, in spite of everything. "Charity" is presented as a vignette. And, as in most of real life, there is no tangible denouement. Instead, readers are left wondering what could have been—and what will be?
Sins reaches its acme with the final tale, "Abyss." Florence and George, two successful real estate agents, meet at a convention and immediately begin an affair, which culminates with an odyssey to the Grand Canyon—on the company bill, no doubt. During their trip, the lovers discover that they don't even like each other one bit.
Ford presents kind of an internal ping-pong, jumping from one character's thoughts to another. This point-counterpoint style reveals just how distanced the characters are from each other. But their growing distaste does little to distract them from their goal: unholy bedlock.
Both characters also undergo a taffy pull of thoughts, attempting to reconcile their guilt through rationalization and the idea that as long as they don't get caught, nobody will be hurt. "And adultery—she liked it when her thoughts connected up well—adultery was the act that rid, erased, even erased itself once the performance was over. Sometimes, she imagined, it must erase more than itself. And sometimes, surely, it erased everything around it. It was a remedy for ills you couldn't get cured any other way, but it was a danger you needed to be cautious with. In any case, she felt grateful for it tonight."
With A Multitude of Sins, Richard Ford lives up to all of the potential one would expect from the Pulitzer Prize/Pen/Faulkner Award winning author. Comparisons to Updike and Chekhov are easy, and fitting.
Almost anyone can relate to these stories because the conflicts are boiled down to basic elements that practically everyone has experienced at some point, like it or not. And with this collection, Ford has created a classic work that will retain its relevance for years to come.
March 20, 2002 * Vol. 12, No. 12
© 2002 Metro Pulse
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