(3.0 stars.) The premise is promising: a divorced, tenure-denied history professor takes a job teaching adults with intellectual disabilities how to ride the bus in Pittsburgh. I assume that Walton was aiming for a semi-obvious juxtaposition in that Ray helps his charges navigate their simple routines while also navigating his own midlife struggles. Together they learn to read their surroundings, identify pitfalls, and ultimately to get through the day more or less unscathed.
1980s (or early 90s?) Pittsburgh makes the perfect setting, a post-industrial urban jumble somehow both ominous and benevolent through wear, gritty but grand. Steep hills, narrow enclaves, scrap everywhere, and a sense of decay. It has also famously been described as a place where you can see where you want to go but can't get there directly.
And so, too, with this novel. Crammed into fewer than 200 pages are the colorful clients Ray shepherds, staff at the chaotic group home, two old biddies in his building, sundry urban characters always recognizable on public transport, and Ray's settled/unsettled widowed mother. On top of that, we have bureaucratic battles with social service agency types, ax-grindy encounters with academic colleagues (a pet peeve of mine in fiction, as too many writers are or used to be academics), and an ill-advised fling with the ex-wife's former rival. All of this vivid social dissonance is useful for painting Ray's panorama and predicaments, but I found it too compressed here. And I say that as a lover of short books. On second thought, maybe Walton intended it that way, all these side characters as "people-scenery" not unlike the physical scenery that inexorably winds by as we peer out bus windows. Hmm.
To its credit, the novel does end with a pleasantly ineffable foggy mood that suggests not all life's problems will be solved but that most problems are manageable and even just "riding" things out with the right disposition can be fine. Ray is simpatico for me in that regard, so I still liked the book but don't know how many other readers would. Frankly, this is already a forgotten novel (as you can see from the dearth of GR reviews), and I found it only by dumb luck at a used bookstore.
[Lastly, I must mention that this book drops some absolute banger vocab words: schlamperei, carmagnole, oriflamme, pultaceous, kraal, vademecum.]