I’m impressed by Andrew Martin’s first novel, Early Work. Judging by his author photo in the New York Times review, he can’t be much over 30, but the assuredness of his writing suggests a writer capable beyond his years.
Not a lot happens in Early Work, which makes it my favorite kind of novel. I felt a kinship with his protagonist, Peter, an aspiring writer who dropped out of an English PhD program to become a writer, but instead ends up a dependent tag-along to his girlfriend, Julia, a med school student who also happens to have accomplished more as a writer than Peter, crafting published poetry in her spare time.
Peter spends most of the book figuring out a way to break from Julia in order to be with Leslie, a woman as screwed-up as he is, and by the end he is successful, with questionable implications for his future. But it’s the journey that matters, and Martin’s writing is crafted with a keen eye for the telling detail, nuanced emotional intelligence, and a sense of balance that makes a book about screwed-up people into an artistic gem.
I frequently stopped to admire Martin’s confidence in exploring a direction that, in less capable hands, might have been a boring detour, but which this writer made part of the ultimate shape of the novel. There’s an Updike-like willingness to linger over sensory details that, while not advancing plot, yield some of the most pleasurable moments of the book. Martin is writerly in a good way; he writes very well but not ostentatiously, and his skills are always used in the service of his characters.