I have a strange quirk: watching movies about alcoholics makes me want a beer. I can’t define it, can’t reason it out, but watching people ruin their lives over alcohol makes me want to drink more than any beer commercial ever could. Is it a self-destructive streak or is it that I want the forbidden? Who knows? But reading An Arsonist’s Guide To Writers’ Homes In New England made me want to drink beer till my own reality blended with the book.

Great big cans of beer were slurped down by Sam, the main character, and his parents throughout the latter half of this novel. Once the drinking started, it didn’t stop. No action could take place without the lubricant of booze. One of my favorite instances of drinking is when Sam walks in on his father drinking beer while sitting perfectly still on an exercise bike. It was such a lovely image, a sloshed middle aged man not only going nowhere on a stationary bike, but not even making the attempt at mobility. The image had it’s own kind of humor, and it’s own kind of sadness.

This is an expertly written novel. The subject matter is dark: a young man accidentally burns down Emily Dickinson’s house and kills two people. This is something you find out on the jacket cover so I’m not giving anything away. It gets darker from there: more fires, more death, more human weakness. The story is told in such a charming way and the main character is so naive and such a “bumbler” that you can’t help but laugh at the madness.

Brock Clarke’s voice is strong, even if his main character is not. His juxtaposition of suburban sprawl to small town life is wonderful. By the end, neither one seems very stable. The book is full of little insights, like the character of Mr. Frazier, an old man who’s elegant neighborhood has grown poor and shabby around him. He’s so alone and lonely and full of pride and sadness, as is every character in the novel.

Allow me to be honest, I’m not good at literary analysis. “Juxtaposition” is the closest I’ll get to sounding official. I won’t go into metaphors or try to psychoanylise the characters.  It’s not my style and I hate giving away plot points.

What I can tell you is that is a good read. It’s full of life, the good and the bad. There are parts of this book where you wish Sam was a different kind of guy. Once or twice, I wished Sam was a cold-blooded killer, but he’s not. He’s a person that makes mistakes, a person that is too naive not to be completely self-aware. Watching him bumble through life reminds the reader of their own mistakes, their own “bumbles”. He’s an easy character to sympathize with.

Why do I think this is the perfect book club book? Because it calls into question the nature of story itself. It takes a scathing look at memoirs as well as the reality of fiction and how it affects our lives. The novel even questions the truth of its own story. That’s quite a lot to chew on for one meeting.

So go ahead, get the club together and get a case of your favorite beer. Pull out the book, tattered, worn and heavily underlined and thoroughly discuss its very essence. Leave no nuance unturned. But never forget to ask, “How does this book make you feel about the human condition?”. If you don’t get that yet, you will in Chapter 7.