Idlewild by Jude Sierra (December 1, 2016); 250 pages. Available from Interlude Press at http://store.interludepress.com/products/idlewild-print-edition
Idlewild is the story of a Detroit restauranteur/widower who figures out how to rescue himself from isolation and loss after the tragedy of his husband’s death. (If that sounds like a metaphor for Detroit itself, well, maybe it is.) It’s also the story of a young guy trying to find himself, working his butt off to become someone he likes, and figuring out who he is. (If that also sounds like a metaphor for Detroit, so be it.) It’s the story of very different worlds meeting and working together, trying to resolve differences and make something great. And it’s kind of literally the story of Detroit itself, too, at least as a backdrop.
Asher and his partner John had opened Idlewild, a restaurant in the heart of Detroit, as their dream. But when John died suddenly, Asher wound up digging himself into Idlewild and losing almost everything—he’s since become estranged from John’s family and almost never leaves Idlewild (he lives above the restaurant, and when he’s not upstairs, he’s downstairs). He mourns alone, and works alone, even though there are lots of people around; as a result, he loses almost the entire staff who’d worked for him when John was alive, and must start fresh. He hires a new staff, which includes Tyler, a young guy from Detroit who’s trying to figure out his own direction. With Tyler comes renewal in all forms—both the restaurant and Asher are revitalized. Tyler goes through his own sort of revival when his life turns in directions different from what he’d originally planned. Though it only serves as a backdrop, Idlewild itself seems to be the key to all this change: it’s place where things happen, where new beginnings are possible.
What’s lovely in this novel is its care: both Asher and Tyler are drawn so sympathetically (a middle-aged man who’s grown prematurely old from tragically losing a man he loved, Asher struggles between past and future; Tyler is a younger guy trying to figure out where he stands between the privileged-but-sincere Asher and his justifiably-angry-and-less-privileged ex). Such great attention is given to their characters and histories. These guys make sense, and the reader can understand why they think the way they do.
The complexities these characters face are real, and extend beyond the personal. Or, rather, the complexities weave together the personal and the social/political, which is what makes them complexities in the first place. It also makes them good problems for narrative, since they’re not immediately and easily solved.
Alysia Constantine 