I remember a time when I’d sit with paperback in hand at the water’s edge for hours, on one of those low-slung sand chairs, the surf washing over my feet. No need for prescription sunglasses in those days!

That time of lazy beach vacations has long since passed. Over the years we’ve become more attached to the mountains than the beach, to fall rather than summer, and my June-to-August reading is done in air-conditioned comfort, free of heat and glare, sand and sea. I read throughout the seasons, of course, but the particular pleasure of a “summer read” has never diminished. From that reader’s perspective, iI’m happy to report that the summer of 2023 has been exceptionally pleasurable. One of the brightest lights was Somebody’s Fool.

There’s a handful of writers whose books I always preorder. The list has waxed and waned over time, but Richard Russo will always be on it. His novels are among the very few that I re-read every couple of years; in fact, The Bridge of Sighs (2007) is in my current queue. Most recently I’d read 2020’s Chances Are. But it’s the “Fool” trilogy that captivates me most. I don’t know a writer with better insight into the psyche of the Northeast’s dying towns and its people, who carry on the best they can, spurred on mostly by memories of what used to be. The “Fool” novels—now known officially as the “North Bath Trilogy”—are set in northeastern New York State, where struggling North Bath fights for its last bit of air as nearby Schuyler (think Saratoga Springs), dripping with wealth, steadily encroaches. Meanwhile, the stars of these three books—Nobody’s Fool, Everybody’s Fool, and Somebody’s Fool—are the everyday folks trying to eke out a living and make sense of their lives. There’s nothing new about this scenario—rich against poor, progress at any expense—yet Russo tells the tale with so much understanding and empathy that it’s never maudlin, overdone, or overused. And at the same time forces us to consider our own opinions and petty prejudices. Somebody’s Fool by any measure is a flawless Book 3.

Hapless Sully, the “hero” of these novels, on the outside seems to run roughshod over anything and everything that could save him from himself. But that’s on the outside, because inside, Sully is downright noble. In my opinion, he’s one of the most brilliantly drawn characters in contemporary American literature. I love the way he slogs through life, seeing good where no one else cares to (and keeping it largely to himself), taking on what always seem like impossible tasks, fighting petty injustices in his own clumsy—and often ill-advised—way, tending to those who can’t, or won’t, care for themselves. Because Sully knows full well what he’s screwed up, maybe all of these “points of light” are his penance. Yet he’s capable not only of good humor, but also of outright joy; and each of the books in the trilogy is rife with laugh-out-loud moments. I should point out that Sully has actually passed as this book begins, but the truth is that his presence is felt throughout as his son reflects on his father’s life, unsuccessful by virtually all current measures, and surprising legacy. The supporting cast of easy-to-love and easier-to-despise characters is equally engaging, and in volume three, several of them really come into their own (three cheers for Jerome and the Chief!).

The other thing that is so masterful about Somebody’s Fool is that it leads us into the next generation, with what is perhaps a promise of more to come. I would love to follow Peter’s story, and I can’t imagine that other Russo faithfuls wouldn’t feel the same way.

Russo is a master at place. His writing, for me, is downright cinematic. He puts you right there in Rub’s grief-stricken mess, or Miss Beryl’s snowy front porch, or the seedy, late-night bar where everything breaks down in a flash. Along with the brilliance of Paul Newman, this probably explains why the film versions of Empire Falls (published in 2001, mini-series released in 2005) and Nobody’s Fool (published in 1993, film released in 1994) were such superb adaptations. And by the way, if you haven’t seen Lucky Hank, the series adaptation of Russo’s 1997 novel Straight Man, look for it on AMC+ (suggest free trial, then binge, if you don’t subscribe). Russo was deeply involved in this adaptation, as he was in the other two films). Its smashing depiction of small college faculty life with staggering irreverence. You will laugh heartily and also, since it’s Russo, you may cry a bit, too. Bob Odenkirk and the entire supporting cast (including Nancy Robertson of Corner Gas, our favorite late-night laugh therapy).

So thank you, Richard Russo. Again and again.

An aside: I know so many women who are reading women writers exclusively now. I read many myself. But if you love a good book, please don’t ignore great writers like Russo, Abraham Verghese, William Kent Krueger, or Fredrik Bachman just because they’re men. I was once at an author event with [the fabulous] Adriana Trigiani and John Searles, talented author of Her Last Affair and several other edge-of-your-chair reads. John said he’s often asked how he can write women so well—his reply was that he grew up with sisters. A really good writer can get inside anyone’s head.