March 5

I’ve never insisted that anyone read a particular book. We all have different tastes. But this book is exceptional in ways that defy comparison to any other novel. Swedish novelist Fredrik Backman wrote a wildly popular novel titled “A Man Called Ove”, described as “heartwarming”, etc., etc. Soon to be a major motion picture starring Tom Hanks. I gave ten copies as Christmas gifts. It’s not often that a book suits just about anybody. Your grandmother, your nephew, brother, mother. But it’s a bit long on treacle, so I figured once was enough. I never read another Backman novel.

But “Beartown” was recommended by so many friends who would not let up. I relented just to shut them up. I read “Beartown” over two days when I was laid up with a nasty head cold. It’s a lousy title. After the first few chapters I decided it wasn’t for me. The whole thing revolves around a small town down on its luck, and hockey is the only thing holding it together. Please. But I was too ill to go out and inflict my germs on anyone else, so it was just me, trapped indoors with this book, “Beartown.”

It gutted me. I lost sleep in order to finish it. I can’t even find words to describe its impact on me. And about the last thing you’d expect from a straight author writing a book about hockey is a gay subplot. But it’s in there. A coach accidentally sees one of his players, a teenager, kiss another boy. Here’s an excerpt. (I’ve left out the names so as not to spoil it for new readers)

(The coach) “drives back to town. Sits in the car crying with anger. He’s ashamed. He’s disgusted. At himself. He’s spent his whole life in hockey training a boy, has loved him like a son, been loved in return like a father. There’s no more loyal player... No one whose heart is bigger than his. How many times has (the coach) hugged (the boy) after a game and told him, ‘You’re the bravest bastard I know... The bravest bastard I know.’

And after all those hours in the locker room, all those nights on the team bus, all the conversations and all the jokes and the blood, sweat and tears, the boy didn’t dare tell his coach his biggest secret.

That’s betrayal. (The coach) knows it’s a huge betrayal. There’s no other way to explain how much a grown man must have failed as a person if such a warrior of a boy could believe that his coach would be less proud of him if he were gay.

(The coach) hates himself for not being better than his dad. That’s the job of sons.”

And when I finished this wrenching book, I realized it was not about hockey at all.

Read “Beartown.”