Among English teachers of a certain ilk, the "Where I'm From" poem is a popular creative writing assignment: Students start each line with "I'm from..." and finish it with any number of pieces of their past, their homes, and their families ("I'm from baseball games and touch football/I'm from my grandfather's cologne/and the Bridgewater Mall"). It shows, among other things, the connections between self and place, past and present, family legend and local history (not that the students would EVER use the phrase "family legend and local history"). It's a popular assignment because it's difficult to do poorly: once you get going, you are overwhelmed by the minutia that make you who you are, the local legends, family gatherings, favorite recipes, summer memories... the list is, quite literally, endless, and usually endlessly interesting to the writer, who enjoys meandering through her own life.
Lauren Groff has written the MFA's version of a "Where I'm From" poem. Templeton, the narrator's hometown in The Monsters of Templeton, is loosely based off Groff's own childhood home, Cooperstown, NY (remember? Baseball Hall of Fame?). In her introduction, Groff calls the book nothing short of "a love song to Cooperstown." Originally, Groff wanted to write a straight history. She researched the town's history and read the work of the writer James Fenimore Cooper, whose father was the town's founder. But as she wrote her history, she found that she kept inserting fiction where fact should be. Cooper's characters became actual people from the town's past, and myths became reality. In the end, she could not in good conscience call the book factual, and she abandoned the task of arriving at Truth: instead, she re-christened her town Templeton and threw herself into creating its fantastic history. Incidentally, the introduction in which Groff explains this process is one of the most interesting parts of the book.
Not that the story itself lacks intrigue. Willie Upton, the story's narrator and "tour guide", so to speak, through Templeton, is the direct descendent of Templeton's founding family, the Temples. A PhD student in archeology, she is on the verge of a nervous breakdown when she returns to her hometown from Stanford. She has just been dumped by her professor, by whom she may or may not be pregnant, her best friend has lupus, and her academic career has been seriously threatened by the fact that she is guilty of the attempted murder of the dean of her school. Willie's mother, a hippie-turned-Baptist who raised Willie alone, decides this would be a good time to come clean about Willie's father: he was not a hippie from a commune in California, as Willie was always told, but was instead a well-known local man. Which local man? Ah, that's for you to find out, Willie's mother tells her. Start digging, my little archeologist!
And dig Willie does. Her mother provides a single clue: Willie's father is also a distant descendent of the Temples, through an illegitimate birth at some point in the family's history. Desperate for a distraction from her messy life, Willie embarks on a quest to discover her father by discovering the source of the illegitimate birth. Due to her family's prominence, she can easily follow its members using books, letters, and journals, all housed at the local museum, a stone's throw from her house.
Like so many contemporary novels, this story is told not from one point of view; rather, it is an amalgam of several narrative voices. Frequently, when a book fluctuates between narrators, one voice stands out as the most powerful, and the others serve as annoying distractions. In this case, Willie's voice is the only consistent strand: her story is interspersed with brief vignettes from her various ancestors. I expected Willie's story to be the driving force in this novel; the ancestors, I thought, would be the distractors.
Instead, the ancestors--who, as philanderers, arsonists, murderers, and rapists, are almost certainly the "Monsters" of the book's title--continually steal the stage. Whether they are natives, slaves, or colonists, their voices are restrained and authentic; their stories are fascinating, both for their personal drama and for their insight into this particular slice of American history. Willie's story, in contrast, often feels forced. She is surrounded by an insistently eccentric cast of characters: a best friend who is spunky with a capital S; a high school football hero who reads Spinoza in his spare time; a professor, Primus Dwyer, who is precisely as stuffy as his name implies. Even Willie's mother is a bit too "Earth Mother" to be fully believable. Willie herself is a grating narrator. She is supposed to be a near-genius on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but frequently, she sounds more whiny than crazy, more snobby than smart.
In the end--to be honest--I didn't really care who Willie's father was (though that question was certainly answered, in one of the book's sweetest moments). I cared much more for the glimpses into Templeton's past. In the last book I read, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, the mystery at the story's center kept me hooked. Here, the mystery was not the focus of the story, nor was it meant to be. Willie herself seemed more absorbed by her family's history--and, by extension, her town's history--than by the question of her father's identity. Before she could recover from her collapse, she needed to know who she was. And she found what English teachers and students before her have found--that who you are is, frequently, where you're from. Willie is from Templeton, and it is ultimately Templeton--not Willie--that shines as the star of this story. In that sense, the book succeeds as the "love story" Groff set out to write.