Independence Day
Independence Day is a lyrically driven though slow-moving sequel to Richard Ford’s highly praised 1986 novel The Sportswriter, a book hailed by fellow sportswriter and novelist Fred Exley as “a grand achievement.” The Sportswriter, Ford’s third novel, was a crossover success, a book that appealed not exclusively to serious readers of literature but also to the elusive general reader and bookstore browser. In Frank Bascombe, the thirty-eight-year-old narrator of The Sportswriter, Ford gave voice to a man grappling with everyday life, a revised 1980’s version of Arthur Miller’s Willy Loman meeting John Updike’s Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom, a contemporary Everyman traveling a road detoured by death and divorce. Now, in Independence Day, six years have staggered by, and Frank, aged forty-four, is still divorced. Now, however, instead of writing about sports for a living, he is working as a realty agent. This job puts him face to face with people who are seeking the illusionary home of their dreams—though he is well aware that dream-homes can only be sold, not bought. This, Frank admits, is the cold, hard reality of real estate.
The reality of Frank’s life can be summed up as follows. A once-promising young writer whose first book of short stories was optioned to a film producer for a large sum of money, he set aside his novel-in-progress when he was offered a job writing about sports for a well-known, glossy-covered commercial magazine. Sportswriting provided a life of comfort for him, his wife X—rechristened Ann in Independence Day—and their three children. When their son Ralph died from Reye’s syndrome, however, Frank was, as he put it, “launched off into the dreaminess his death may or may not have even caused but didn’t help, and my life with X broke apart. The Sportswriter is filled with, and at times burdened by, this overwhelming sense of dreaminess. The blow-by-blow account of Frank’s personal unraveling is sometimes weighed down by Ford’s tendency to tie up the narrative with a moment of epiphany: an expository technique wherein a narrator seems compelled to explain events—to search for some pattern or meaning—so that the actual telling becomes a significant part of the story. Ford uses this self-reflective method of narration best in the stories of Rock Springs (1987) and the novel Wildlife (1990). When it is working best, it can strike a feeling of intimacy between storyteller and reader; at its worse, the possibility of intimacy can backfire and ultimately intrude. This is the case in The Sportswriter, but it is especially true in the more immaculately detailed Independence Day: a book bogged down, more so than its predecessor, by Frank’s malingering sense of suburban, middle-class, middle-aged malaise.
Frank Bascombe still lives in Haddam, New Jersey, a place known for its “tree- softened streets” and “shaded lawns,” a town still trying to hang on to Americana as mythically immortalized by the likes of Norman Rockwell—an idealism recently revived by the propaganda campaigns of right-wing actor-turned-politician Ronald Reagan. Yet in reality all is not well, and no one knows this better than Frank Bascombe himself. He makes his living by selling people what they believe to be the American Dream. His clients are terminal nomads in search of permanence in a world where roots are repeatedly uprooted, where freedom is defined by how far a person strays from the family home. Frank knows firsthand how needy most lives tend to be. He himself hungers for the way things used to be: husband, wife, children all living under the same roof. As things do not work out, however, the wife...
(This entire section contains 2026 words.)
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and children end up living with another man, Charley O’Dell, a man, in Ann’s words, with “a true heart.” Much to his credit, Frank ends up buying his former wife’s house in a desperate attempt to create the illusion of order and uniform sameness when his kids come to visit. When they do come, at least the walls will seem familiar. Even this proves an exercise in futility, one man’s last-ditch effort to save his marriage and his children’s fractured family image, to salvage himself, once and for all, from the wreckage that has claimed his life.
Frank’s desire to reclaim his life from the repercussions of the past is at the heart of this novel. It is clear that he wants to set things straight, to get back on track, in his dealings with his former wife and with his troubled teenage son Paul (who has been diagnosed, after a series of petty thefts and run-ins with the law, as “intellectually beyond his years” but “emotionally underdeveloped”), as well as with his current girlfriend, Sally Caldwell, with whom the possibility of a long-term relationship is, at best, a long-shot bet on a three-legged horse. If nothing else, however, Frank proves to be an optimist, riding out the waves of what he has labeled his Existence Period, on his way into a new era in his life: a movement away from simply existing, an emergence that leans toward eventual acceptance, the act and art of simply living and letting go.
All of this—Frank’s rebirth—takes place over the course of one Fourth of July weekend, a three-day holiday for which he has big plans beginning with a pilgrimage to the basketball and baseball halls of fame with his fifteen-year-old son Paul, who has recently started barking and even more recently blackened the eye of his stepfather Charley O’Dell, an act with which Frank is silently pleased. Frank has his hopes set high on reestablishing some of the ties that have been frayed and severed since the onset of the Bascombe family’s separation (as if he thinks a little male bonding could patch a young boy’s broken, though mischievous heart). As a symbolic precursor to this trip and as a means of preparing Paul for the life-changing realization that on this day never comes—the notion that possibility and optimism are both out there waiting to be grabbed—Frank gives his son a copy of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Self-Reliance, a book that has helped Frank steer his way through trouble’s heartland, lighted by that transcendental claim that “power resides in moments of transition.”
Paul is unmoved by this gesture. Instead, he finds power and satisfaction in moments of pure adolescent pestiness. Ford’s portrayal of a rebellious fifteen-year-old reared on MTV is bull’s-eye perfect, right on the mark. The strongest sections of this novel are those that pit Paul against his father. Unfortunately, though, Paul does not significantly enter the story until midway through the book. The wide-sweeping, roaming eye of the narrator, a man caught up “in moments of transition,” wastes considerable time and space walking the sidelined subplots of this novel, on characters such as the Markhams and McLeods, couples with whom Frank deals as a realtor. Thus the pace of this book is slow, molasses slow, the voice lyrical and deliberately long-winded—a style for which Ford makes no apologies. In fact, from the opening lines, the reader is clearly alerted as to what to expect for the next 450 pages. The novel’s first paragraph is a pillowy pallet of words floating “like a sweet lotion balm,” coupled with images of a lone jogger tramping past, of black men sitting on porch stoops, “pants legs rolled above their sock tops, sipping coffee in the growing, easeful heat. . . . Elsewhere . . . the sky . . . reads hazy.”
Like the sky, this novel is a hazy read, clouded by a narrative eye heightened and tuned to the minutest of details, as if Frank wants readers to look at their ordinary surroundings in a brand-new light. It is the kind of book best to take slow, savoring the language, sifting through the suburban landscape—a landscape overrun with strip malls and prefabricated condos rapidly reproducing like the domestic rabbit of the real estate kingdom—in order to see things that one might otherwise overlook.
In Frank Bascombe, Richard Ford has created a vehicle to carry the voice of suburban ennui. His is a story as American as Huck Finn’s: a man in search of not only what has been lost but also that which has yet to be found. Frank’s adventures on the road lead him into the unexpected territory of a world where one must learn to accept things for the way they are—not how one might like them to be. Frank’s ability to see things in this light—to accept the code of acceptance—allows him to take his first few tentative steps into what he calls the Permanent Period: the rebuilding after the storm, “that long, stretching-out time when . . . whatever I do or say, who I marry, how my kids turn out, becomes what the world—if it makes note at all—knows of me.”
Frank Bascombe and Richard Ford can rest assured: the literary world knows of them both—and knows of them well. They are voices for a generation of Americans looking out through the threshold of a door where “what you’ve feared will happen has already taken place.” It is a world of uncertain boundaries, a decade in which independence is a commodity of “a market economy . . . not even remotely premised on anybody getting what he wants.” It is true that Frank, once again, does not end up getting what he wants. Yet at least he is able to see through to the future, the possibility that there is still much more life to be lived: that “there is, naturally . . . much that’s left till later,” a sentiment that seems to suggest that readers of Ford have not heard the last word from Frank Bascombe.
What sets Ford apart from his contemporaries is a chameleonlike ability to change voice, setting, vision, sensibility from one book to the next. No one really ever knows what to expect next. Will he return to his roots, to the southern swirl and density of his first novel, A Piece of My Heart (1976)? Or will he head back west, to the Big Sky country of Montana, as he did in the stories of Rock Springs and the short novel Wildlife, to tell the hard-lived, consequence-driven dramas played out against a backdrop of lonely, wide-open spaces and wind-lashed plains? Or will he turn his eye elsewhere, to some place he has not looked before? These are all questions well worth wondering. Wherever Ford goes, he knows his readers are sure to follow.
Bibliography
The Christian Science Monitor. July 3, 1995, p. 13. A review of Independence Day.
Commonweal. CXXII, October 6, 1995, p. 27. A review of Independence Day.
The Detroit Free Press. July 2, 1995, p. 5H. A review of Independence Day.
Ford, Richard. “The Art of Fiction CXLVII.” Paris Review 38, no. 140 (Fall, 1996). Lengthy interview in which Ford discusses the craft of writing and offers personal observations on all of his work.
Gray, Paul. “Return of the Sportswriter.” Time, June 19, 1995, 60.
Hardwick, Elizabeth. “Reckless People.” The New York Review of Books 42, no. 13 (August 10, 1995). Review essay of Independence Day that discusses Ford’s use of the first-person narrative in the context of his other fiction.
Hobson, Fred. The Southern Writer in the Postmodern World. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1991. Contains the chapter “Richard Ford and Josephine Humphreys: Walker Percy in New Jersey and Charleston,” which provides a basic overview of Ford’s fiction.
Lee, Don. “About Richard Ford.” Ploughshares 22, no. 2-3 (Fall, 1996). Excellent overview of Ford’s work, written shortly after the publication of Independence Day.
London Review of Books. XVI, August 24, 1995, p. 23. A review of Independence Day.
Los Angeles Times Book Review. July 2, 1995, p. 1. A review of Independence Day.
The New York Times Book Review. C, June 18, 1995, p. 1. A review of Independence Day.
Newsweek. CXXV, June 12, 1995, p. 64. A review of Independence Day.
Publishers Weekly. CCXLII, April 24, 1995, p. 59. A review of Independence Day.
Schroth, Raymond A. “America’s Moral Landscape in the Fiction of Richard Ford.” Christian Century 106, no. 7 (March 1, 1989). A study of Ford’s writing as a commentary on contemporary American experience.
The Wall Street Journal. June 16, 1995, p. A12. A review of Independence Day.
Historical Context
The Presidential Campaign of 1988Independence Day unfolds amidst the whirlwind of an unfolding presidential race, capturing the fervent interest of Bascombe and others in its ambit. As July 1988 dawns, the political landscape buzzes with preparations for the grand conventions of America’s two main parties, each poised to crown their champion for the November presidential showdown. Bascombe, a loyal Democrat, pins his hopes on Michael Dukakis, the Massachusetts governor already poised to clinch the Democratic nomination, envisioning him as the future commander-in-chief. While Dukakis is often labeled as "uninspirational," his claim to fame, the so-called Massachusetts Miracle—an economic renaissance under his gubernatorial watch—propels him forward. He stakes his campaign on promises of managerial savvy and economic rejuvenation through job creation. Meanwhile, Republicans strive to paint him as a tax-and-spend liberal, with characters like Karl Bemish, a Republican at heart, derisively dubbing Massachusetts "Taxachusetts."
Bemish embodies the archetype of the era's Reagan Democrats—traditionally Democratic, predominantly white, working-class voters who defected to the Republican fold during Ronald Reagan's presidency in the 1980s. Disillusioned by a Democratic Party they perceived as swayed by special interests and minority causes, these voters gravitated towards Reagan’s robust stance on national security and his tax-cutting zeal. Bascombe, however, sees these Reagan Democrats as "turncoats," betraying their erstwhile political loyalties.
The Democratic primary of 1988 stands out, marked by the Reverend Jesse Jackson Jr.'s impressive campaign, where he claimed victory in eleven primaries, amassing a total of 6.9 million votes. His triumph in the Michigan primary briefly positioned him as a frontrunner for the Democratic nod, yet he couldn’t sustain the momentum, clearing the path for Dukakis. Bascombe, who had flirted with supporting Jackson, ultimately deemed that Jackson’s presidency would spell disaster for the nation. Jackson, the most liberal of the Democratic contenders, advocated for a diverse Rainbow Coalition of minorities, the economically disadvantaged, women, and the LGBTQ community. He championed the reversal of Reagan's tax cuts, bolstered social spending, and a significant reduction in defense expenditure.
In stark contrast to Bascombe, most politically vocal characters in the novel align with the Republican ideology. Charley O’Dell, for instance, ardently champions what Bascombe’s daughter Clarissa terms "the party of money, tradition, and influence," a reflection of her father's views. Similarly, Irv Ornstein leans Republican, preparing to cast his vote for Vice President George Bush, albeit with reservations about Bush’s perceived "indecisiveness." This sentiment was widespread, as Republicans found Bush, Reagan’s long-serving vice president, less inspiring and questioned his alignment with their core values, especially on sensitive issues like abortion. Once seen as moderate, Bush had initially supported abortion rights before adopting a pro-life stance to align with Reagan’s conservative agenda.
As the campaign heated up in the fall of 1988, Bush began to carve out his own identity, stepping out from Reagan’s formidable shadow. In a campaign marked by negativity, Republicans successfully crafted a narrative portraying Dukakis as lenient on crime. They highlighted his veto of a Massachusetts bill mandating the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance in schools, casting doubt on his patriotism.
Despite leading Bush by a significant margin of up to 18 percent in the summer’s polls, Dukakis saw his advantage evaporate following the Republican convention. Bush surged ahead to seize victory, claiming forty states to Dukakis’s ten, with 54 percent of the popular vote compared to Dukakis’s 46 percent.
Literary Style
Metaphors
Throughout the novel, the prevailing metaphor casts real estate as a reflection
of life's essence. A house stands as a temporary shelter, a sanctuary amidst
the tumultuous voyage of life. It provides the illusion of security, promising
to anchor one’s existence with a sense of permanence and significance. Yet,
Bascombe discerns that the true value of a home lies more in hopeful yearning
than in tangible reality. Upon revisiting the abode where he once dwelled with
his family, now reshaped into an ecumenical center, he ponders:
Is there any cause to think a place—any place—within its plaster and joists, its trees and plantings, in its putative essence ever shelters some spirit ghost of us as proof of its significance and ours?
He arrives at a stark conclusion, urging people to “quit asking places for what they can’t provide.” This echoes sentiments he earlier voices when visiting Sally’s beach house. The house is steeped in personal history and vivid memories, yet it stubbornly withholds the depth of meaning he half-expects it to bestow. He asserts that people should “cease sanctifying places” that held past importance, for despite the happenings that unfolded there, “Places never cooperate by revering you back when you need it. . . . Place means nothing.” This conviction fuels Bascombe’s esteem for self-reliance. A house is not to be depended upon; self-dependence is paramount.
Literary Techniques
Independence Day unfolds through the eyes of Frank Bascombe, a perceptive former novelist whose keen eye captures the essence of existence. Set over the course of a mere three days, it immerses readers in an intimate, almost minute-by-minute account of Frank's life, thoughts, and emotions as he navigates the Fourth of July weekend. With a relaxed cadence, Ford's prose invites readers into a world of contemplative reflection right from the start. Ford's dedication to detail is unparalleled; he spent an entire month threading through New Jersey and its neighboring areas, recording his vivid impressions. This meticulous attention to setting lends the novel an authentic flavor of American life. Esteemed as a luminary of modern American realism, Ford weaves the textures of daily life with a finesse that reaches its zenith in this narrative.
While the story's events unfold over a brief three-day span, Ford skillfully employs flashbacks to enrich the tapestry of his tale. These flashbacks illuminate pivotal moments, such as Frank's choice to venture into real estate and his shock at Ann's announcement of her impending remarriage. Symbolism plays a crucial role in deepening the novel's themes, with Frank's career in realty, baseball as an emblem of American tradition passed from father to son, and the Fourth of July celebration, all underscoring Frank's quest for liberation from the constraints that have tethered him throughout adulthood. As the novel draws to a close, Frank's participation in the holiday festivities signals a tangible shift towards a new chapter in his life.
Ideas for Group Discussions
A Deep Dive into Ford's Literary Masterpiece
In Richard Ford's masterful narrative, this particular novel emerges as a profound exploration of modern American existence, albeit through a lens that frequently reveals a rather somber outlook on the pursuit of happiness. Ford's work invites rich discussions around the dual nature of his protagonists, who are both commendable and flawed, his insights into the complexities of human relationships, and his acute depiction of everyday life and the intricate psychological landscapes of his characters.
Character Analysis and Psychological Depth
1. Is Frank Bascombe a character who garners admiration, or does his persona evoke something else entirely? What justifies your perspective?
2. Does Ford shed light on the motivations behind Frank's actions? What psychological underpinnings might explain his behavior and outlook?
3. Does Ford unravel the reasons behind Paul's unusual behavior? Are there solutions you can suggest for understanding his enigmatic actions?
The Structure and Themes of the Novel
4. Does the novel feature a traditional antagonist, or does Ford weave tension through other narrative means?
5. How does Independence Day reflect the nuances of contemporary American culture? In your opinion, has Ford captured the essence of our societal backdrop accurately?
6. What literary devices does Ford utilize to breathe life into his characters, making them resonate as realistic and multidimensional?
The Role of Occupation and Character Development
7. How does Ford weave Frank's career into the fabric of the novel? In what ways does the theme of realty play a crucial role, and what insights does it offer into Frank's personality?
8. What significance does the title hold within the context of the story?
Gender Representation and Character Dynamics
9. Some critics argue that Ford's portrayal of female characters lacks the depth afforded to their male counterparts. What are your thoughts on his depiction of Sally, and her contribution to the narrative? Does she stand as a credible character?
Story Elements and Future Speculations
10. What is the significance of the Markhams within the storyline?
11. What future do you envision for Frank beyond the book's conclusion? In what meaningful ways, if any, has he transformed?
Literary Precedents
Literary Connections
Ford's novel dances in close proximity to the acclaimed Rabbit series by John Updike. Harry Angstrom, the central figure in those tales, grapples with his place in the sprawling landscape of modern America. Just as Updike revisits Angstrom at pivotal junctures, Ford returns to his own narrator, exploring the evolving tapestry of his existence. But perhaps Ford's most profound literary ancestor is none other than Walker Percy, whose impact on Ford’s stylistic essence and philosophical outlook is undeniably significant.
Influences and Inspirations
In masterpieces like The Moviegoer (1961), Percy delves into the lives of men who are fundamentally good yet find themselves adrift in their inability to connect with others. Binx Boiling, the voice behind The Moviegoer, mirrors Frank's plight, both haunted by the specter of unmade commitments. Binx, a stockbroker by trade, like Frank, spins the illusion that by engaging with people through the veil of commerce and by enhancing their financial fortunes, he is crafting genuine personal bonds. Ford knows this novel intimately, carrying its essence into academic halls and weaving its influence into his own narrative fabric, drawing from its voice, themes, and characters with a deft hand.
Adaptations
Random House Audiobooks unveiled an audio-tape rendition of Independence Day, bringing the story to life over the span of three immersive hours. Narrated by John Rubinstein, this abridged version captures the essence and significance of the original novel. Yet, reflecting on Ford's own narration of The Sportswriter, one might muse that Ford himself could have lent a richer authenticity to the character of Frank.
Bibliography and Further Reading
Sources
Ford, Richard, Independence Day, Alfred A. Knopf, 1995.
Giles, Jeff, “Seems like Old Times,” in Newsweek, June 12, 1995, p. 64.
Gray, Paul, “Return of the Sportswriter,” in Time, June 19, 1995, p. 60.
Johnson, Charles, “Stuck in the Here and Now,” in New York Times Book Review, Vol. 100, June 18, 1995, p. 28.
Review of Independence Day, in Publishers Weekly, Vol. 242, No. 17, April 24, 1995, p. 59.
Further Reading
Chernecky, William G., “‘Nostalgia Isn’t What It Used to Be’: Isolation and
Alienation in the Frank Bascombe Novels,” in Perspectives on Richard
Ford, edited by Huey Guagliardo, University Press of Mississippi, 2000, pp.
157–76. Chernecky offers an analysis of The Sportswriter and
Independence Day. In the former, Frank Bascombe has a solipsistic
worldview that alienates him from the world around him and deprives him of
seeing any meaning in life. In the latter, he has mellowed and is less
judgmental and solipsistic. He is able to create bridges in order to reach
other people.
Hobson, Fred, “Richard Ford and Josephine Humphreys: Walker Percy in New Jersey and Charleston,” in The Southern Writer in the Postmodern World, University of Georgia Press, 1991, pp. 41–72. Hobson sees in Ford’s narrator, Frank Bascombe, a continuation of the tradition of the cerebral southern narrator found in the novels of William Faulkner, Robert Penn Warren, and others. Hobson argues that Bascombe is fascinated by the past, by family, and by place, even though he tries to persuade the reader that he is not.
Lee, Don, “About Richard Ford,” in Ploughshares, Vol. 22, No. 2–3, Fall 1996, pp. 226–35. This article presents an overview of Ford’s life and work, up to and including Independence Day.
Walker, Elinor Ann, Richard Ford, Twayne’s United States Authors Series, No. 718, Twayne, 2000, pp. 133–76. This lengthy analysis of Independence Day includes an examination of how Ford explores the nature of language. Characters use both the power and the imprecision of words to connect or to distance themselves from each other.