The following is my initial gut reaction to Stephen Haven’s book about growing up in Amsterdam, New York, which was released by Syracuse University Press a month or so ago and nominated for a National Book award.
I couldn’t wait to get a copy of The River Lock: One Boy’s Life Along The Mohawk by former Amsterdamian, Stephen Haven, and read it. I had read some of Haven’s poetry, and it is great. I read The River Lock in one sitting and plan to read it again, so that I can review it in more detail elsewhere.
In short, The River Lock, a memoir of growing up in Amsterdam, New York in the 1960s and 1970s was very disappointing. I’m not sure Haven ever knew where he was heading with this book. It seems purposeless and almost pointless. The endless telling of adolescent tomfoolery wore thin rather quickly. Frankly, I am tired of stories of people’s first sexual experience, first period, first time drunk, etc. It’s not that these experiences shouldn’t be written about, but it takes an exceptional writer to write about them in a way that’s interesting and meaningful. These stories are so common now, they have become cliches.
The book has better moments like the chapter titled PK. Occasionally, Haven’s poetic skills break through and there are sentences and paragraphs that are like pearls in pig muck. At times, however, Haven’s writing borders on cruelty. This is particularly true when writing about the little Tucci girl’s sexual activity. It’s not that writing about sex is bad, but disclosing such information about a girl, when many people in Amsterdam, New York know who she is, is not great writing. It’s simply bad taste.
