I had never heard of the novelist Jon Hassler, who died last month. The obituaries took me by surprise: Minnesota's best artist, more significant than the Coen brothers, or Bob Dylan, or Garrison Keillor. Or Sinclair Lewis. How could I be so ignorant?
Off I trotted to the library, where there was a nearly pristine shelf of Hassler novels. They were clearly virgin and untouched — so I'm not the only diligent reader who is ignorant of Hassler. From the shelf I plucked The Dean's List (1997) and attacked it with great expectations.
I'm very sorry to report that this particular novel is a lot less exciting than the ecstatic obituaries would have led me to believe. The Dean's List is an academic story with a familiar cast: a harried dean, a celebrity poet, an overbearing mom, an elusive girlfriend — nothing that David Lodge or Malcolm Bradbury hasn't done with more wit and verve. Or Robertson Davies, for that matter. Too many quirky characters; too many satirical targets. Perhaps I made a mistake and chose the wrong Hassler novel. I'll borrow another one and report back.
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