Before I review Lawn Boy, I need to put on a pair of boxing gloves, step into the ring, and deliver a TKO. This novel, like so many others, has been swept into the flood of right-wing hysteria surrounding content in literature deemed objectional in various school districts. Subsequently, the novel has been banned in many areas. Scanning the host of reviews of Lawn Boy on Goodreads, I've noticed several one-star reviews that attack the book for both depicting and promoting pedophilia. These are serious accusations and they merit careful consideration. The very notion that a writer would promote such a pernicious act seems specious to me, and as I firmly believe no book should ever be banned or any work of art censored, I read Lawn Boy not only for my own edification and enjoyment but also to figure out what got people so alarmed over it. Besides, I've learned that reviews are often suspect, and any book that gets lots of one-star reviews or five-star reviews usually means something is amiss.
Let me state this as forcefully and diplomatically as I can. Those who believe Lawn Boy describes or advocates pedophilia obviously don't know what pedophilia is. Here's a spoiler: the furor over this novel concerns an encounter between two little boys of the same age that occurs in the exposition of the novel. What some readers wrongly see as child abuse is little more than curiosity and sex exploration between two preteen boys. And that is all. Anyone who thinks this constitutes pedophilia is deluded, possibly sick, and is projecting their own sexual hang-ups and fears onto the text. Personally, I find it appalling that prudes, bigots, and would-be fascists casually level charges of child rape at art and artists as if ordering meat from a butcher. Every decade or so the nation gets caught up in a pedophilic panic, usually once a marginalized group of people (African Americans, women, gays and lesbians) advance their cause and make significant strides toward equality and full acceptance into American life. People are crazy, often stupid, and lash out in ways that can do permanent harm. But banned books endure and any art that perpetuates culture wars will grow in stature. They never fade away. To those who want to read Lawn Boy and learn why I think it deserves five stars, keep reading. To the book's detractors, get help. Trust me, you need it.
The fact that I'm taking so much time to pen a lengthy, thoughtful review/defense of Lawn Boy (I'm writing this on July 4) conveys a lot about my admiration for the book and Jonathan Evison's writing. This is a novel that achieves the rare accomplishment of both informing and entertaining without being preachy, insulting, or grandiloquent. In Mike Munoz, the main character, Evison gives readers a protagonist that is endearing and relatable, someone to truly root for and empathize with. Mike wants to get out of poverty and the malaise of his early twenties, yet he is stymied by circumstances and the capitalist social order of twenty-first century America. He knows what he's up against and he knows he is better than the life he's been given. Readers follow along with Mike as he courses through a labyrinth of dead-end jobs and false starts, meets a host of people who think they know what's best for him, and struggles to use his grit and talents for landscaping to rise into the middle class.
The strength of this novel lies in Evison's writing. The world Evison builds in Lawn Boy is authentic, the characters are clearly and distinctly drawn, and the style poses no challenge to readers. Mike is a bookworm who decries MFA fiction and lofty prose, and Evison, hewing to his hero's wishes, denies the sort of linguistic gymnastics that turn so many people off reading. He also presents various views and political statements in the book without being didactic or picking a side. Chaz, Doug, Piggot, and even Freddy, each express their views to Mike in a effort to help him figure out his life. He samples a little from each person until he figures out which course is right for him, taking note of the ways those views both help and harm those around him. At its core, Lawn Boy is about identity: how individuals create their own identity and the extent to which identity is crafted by one's environment. Evison's easy prose succeeds in doing what so many Iowa writers fail to do: write good books readers can easily digest.
Any qualms I have with this novel are slight, but I should note that Lawn Boy is episodic, so readers shouldn't expect a grand narrative arch. Somehow I found it hard to believe that Mike, a bright young man who reads literature of all sorts, would have such a hard time securing better employment, but that's the whole point Evison is trying to get at, the way the workforce is rigged. The big surprise near the end of the book came from out of nowhere but I can believe it. Lawn Boy is full of surprises, and to someone like Mike, twenty-two, in flux, and desperate to evolve, every experience is new and alive and scary and fascinating all at once. I'm very grateful for this book, and it might be cliche but I definitely wish Lawn Boy was a novel I had read when I was in my early twenties and searching for my true self. We've all got a Mike Munoz inside of us, and we need to be truthful and let him out no matter how scary it will be to us or others.