John of John
John of John
Author: Douglas Stuart
Rating: A
Vibe: Tweed, Calvinism and two closets under one small roof
Harris Tweed is the only fabric in the world with its own act of Parliament. To carry the name, it has to be handwoven in an islander's home in Scotland's Outer Hebrides, then inspected and stamped as genuine. It's a cloth defined by authenticity, which makes it a pointed trade for John Macleod, the father in Douglas Stuart's "John of John," who has spent most of his adult life passing as someone else.
His son, John-Calum, who goes by Cal, is 22, gay and scrubbing pub toilets in late-1990s Edinburgh when his father calls to say Cal's grandmother is unwell, the first of the book's many deceptions. Cal takes the ferry home to Harris, a tight community of crofters and churchgoers where affection is suspect. Stuart is extraordinary on the place itself. He writes peat cutting and lambing with total authority, and Harris comes through as gorgeous, windswept and hard, the kind of island where everyone knows everyone's business.
Cal isn't the only one hiding. For years, John has been involved with his neighbor Innes, which is the real reason Cal's mother left (for John's brother, no less). Stuart lets us inside both men early, so much of the tension comes from watching them hide from each other in a very small town. Innes wants a life together; John wants to protect his standing, at church and in his son's eyes.
John takes his secret out on Cal. He mocks Cal's long hair, and when Cal hugs a friend, John tells him he could do without being known as the man with "a hugger for a son." Worse, he beats him. Stuart never excuses any of it, and I won't either. But he does show you where it comes from, which is harder to write and more honest. When a man is forced to live a lie, he isn't the only one who pays for it. Everyone in his house does. I spent the book aching for both men and frustrated with them, often in the same scene.
Stuart's first two novels, "Shuggie Bain" and "Young Mungo," followed gay boys trying to survive Glasgow; "John of John" asks what becomes of such a boy if he never gets out, and what he hands down to his son. The title, after all, is a genealogy. It's also warmer and funnier than its predecessors, without being any less clear-eyed.
I grew up Mormon in Utah, so I know this script. Swap the Presbyterian church for a ward house and the Hebrides for Salt Lake City, and it barely changes. John wants his son "Saved." We said "worthy," with a card to prove it: a temple recommend, certifying you were in good standing. For a gay kid, good standing meant silence. John's life was the one laid out for me. I've spent nearly 20 years with my husband instead, but I know how close I came. That's why I couldn't write John off, even at his worst.
My reservations are minor, and taste is subjective. He sometimes spells out what a scene has already made clear, and once the secrets start coming out, the plot leans ever-so-slightly melodramatic. And the violence at home is difficult to read, as it should be.
Those are quibbles against a remarkable book. Stuart, who worked in fashion design before turning to fiction, renders the weaving with a maker's eye, the dialogue is outstanding and even the minor characters resist type. There are no easy answers here, and the situation is as unforgiving as the terrain. It's Douglas Stuart at full strength. Grade: A.
