Jared's review
status:
Read in November, 2004
Review inspired by Eddie Greenwell
Wisdom grows with age. But the development of wisdom also accelerates when mortality becomes clear. Mortality shined down on Morrie Schwartz, a happy not-quite-old man through a quick diagnosis of ALS – or Lou Gehrig’s disease. Morrie was a professor of sociology at Brandeis University; he dedicated his life to the study of individuals’ actions in their respective societies and together he and Mitch Albom wrote his final paper: a study of his life in his society.
The framework for Albom and Morrie’s message of love and returning to what’s important is archetypal in world literature. The Bible, Koran and other religious books trumpet the theme that the relationships of familial love end up giving you ultimate joy in the end.
Literary fiction is a wonderful genre, but literary fiction shouldn’t tell the reader outright there is some lesson to be learned. It should be the same with non-fiction as well. In this story, the messa...more
Review inspired by Eddie Greenwell
Wisdom grows with age. But the development of wisdom also accelerates when mortality becomes clear. Mortality shined down on Morrie Schwartz, a happy not-quite-old man through a quick diagnosis of ALS – or Lou Gehrig’s disease. Morrie was a professor of sociology at Brandeis University; he dedicated his life to the study of individuals’ actions in their respective societies and together he and Mitch Albom wrote his final paper: a study of his life in his society.
The framework for Albom and Morrie’s message of love and returning to what’s important is archetypal in world literature. The Bible, Koran and other religious books trumpet the theme that the relationships of familial love end up giving you ultimate joy in the end.
Literary fiction is a wonderful genre, but literary fiction shouldn’t tell the reader outright there is some lesson to be learned. It should be the same with non-fiction as well. In this story, the message is one of those direct, sappy ones: surround yourself with loved ones and know what is important, and don't get caught with money and business. We have heard that a million times! Worse, he doesn’t write it in a more creative way that we have heard it in the past.
The problem is that Tuesdays with Morrie seems like some kind of self help book. Albom needs to learn to give only the story and let the reader make of it what she wants. He shouldn’t preach to the reader, "I traded lots of dreams for a bigger paycheck" (p. 33). That is why his work comes across so sappy – one liners creep into the pages all over.
In comparing Tuesdays to Five People you Meet in Heaven, they make Albom look like a one-trick pony. Much of the content is the same. A character (Eddie in "Five People..." and Mitch in "Teusdays...") has a lesson he needs spelled out for them...and they cry...a lot. They don't just live the story, they take on the empty-headed-learning perspective. His characters don't bring much to the table, but seem naive and ignorant, without common sense. Along these lines, no character in good literature can just be told a lesson and then live it. For example, would A Christmas Carol really have been much of a story if the ghosts would have just sat down and talked to Ebenezer Scrooge—who is highly comparable to Mitch in this novel—and said "Hey, you work too much and you don't really enjoy life," and then Ebenezer just did it. No, Ebenezer had to live through the consequences of his lifestyle and then choose for himself. The best part of a great and lasting character, and the part that Albom severely misses out on, is the growing. A good character doesn't just get told and then accept. Albom's characters are spoon-fed quotes and lessons like children and the reader is supposed to buy it! Well, I don't. I need to learn human development, not be told how to develop.
To jazz Tuesdays up, give us more of Mitch's life as a reporter. Not just glimpses of and a complete summary (a literary no-no) of his life as a business man. Albom needs to take the time out to develop the friction between Mitch's life in Detroit and his life at Brandeis. The true beauty about this inherent conflict that most readers can identify with is that there is an allure to making all that money and living it up as a great sports writer as opposed to living with less money but happier. It is a more dynamic and relevant story and teaches more than Albom’s classroom environment.
Some of Morries lessons are inconsistent, and the reader must forget what Albom heralded at the beginning of the encounter. For example, Morrie was adamant at the beginning of the novel that he was not embarrassed about his humanity; he lived his own life without thinking about his stature, power or wealth. He claimed that one should never worry about what other people thought about him. Later in the book, after his ALS progressed, he complained about being embarrassed about how degenerate his body had become. He stopped letting visitors be with him much and identified that his biggest thorn was that the nurse had to help him with his intimate needs in the bathroom. These inconsistencies make the reader confused as to whether Morrie progressed and realized his humanity or truly lived out of the rat race.
If Albom has grown as an author, it is simply to write in such a sappy dramatic way that the general public eats it up, but does not digest. As he says in Tuesdays: "Yet they gave up days and weeks of their lives, addicted to someone else's drama" (42). Perhaps he should spend some time reading Hemmingway before his next novel, and really dig into the characters and conflicts.
The criticality of this novel stems from Albom’s desire that his audience think about and learn from the piece. It was too sappy to be taken seriously and truly learn from.
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Tuesdays with Morrie: An Old Man, a Young Man, and Life's Greatest Lesson 
