The Writing Class, by Jincy Willett

Jincy Willett writes some of the most perfect short stories I have ever read. But, until The Writing Class was released last week, you couldn't read them unless you found a used copy of her collection somewhere (now thankfully re-released). That this reality of the literary world is so clearly reflected in the life of Amy Gallup, protagonist of this mystery/satire, helps or hinders the novel. I haven't decided which.

Amy is a writer whose work has been out of print for decades. Her rising star peaked early, and various circumstances (which the reader becomes privy to) caused a writer's block of epic proportions. She makes her living various ways, including teaching a writing class through a University extension course, and has lost the joy of living. That Amy is a good writing teacher is unimportant, those classes are too often filled with people who couldn't write their way out of a paper bag. But her advice to the class is advice to the reader as well. "Always assume what you're reading is 100% fictional," she warns her class (and the reader). And a good warning it is, considering how even the physical description of Amy fits Willett to a T. It would be all too easy to assume this is a novel about Jincy Willett, brilliant, but little seen author.

Amy is a contradiction: she admonishes the class for creating two-dimensional characters when she is doing the same with her students (The Jock, The Pompous One, The Retired Teacher), and for awhile they live up to their cardboard cut-outs. The novel swims along with a slight edge of menace (as all writing workshops have one of those, trust me) until Amy and the reader find out this particular class is hiding a prankster with possibly psychotic designs on the class. When the class is canceled, the students rally together (knowing one of them is possibly dangerous), because as they said, "We're having fun!" All is not fun, though, but in the process, Amy finds out about the hidden depths of humanness, the surprising joy of being liked, and uncovers her own hidden demons. Oh yes, there is a murder or two as well.

I loved this book so much I actually read it in a 24 hour period. I had to keep going, see if my suspicions were correct (they weren't), and know what happens next. Which is, to me, the most important element for any novel to have. That aching grip that clenches your heart or bowels and keeps those pages turning. What happens next?

It's not just the mystery aspect. The passages in which the class is dissecting a story are just as riveting. Some of the stories (of which the reader gets an excerpt) are horrific and true. Anyone who has taken a writing class will feel instant recognition, not only for the stories, but the uncomfortable silences that occur in a workshop setting when no one want to speak up first.

But the mystery is what hinges it all together. Everyone is a suspect to everyone else and the reader (except Amy, who receives oddly chilling phone calls in the middle of the night - playing on her fears), except we like these characters, they become more than the two-dimensional caricatures Amy assigns to them at the beginning and we find it difficult to see any of them in a possibly murderous light. And through this all there is Amy, struggling against her loner instincts, finding herself in the middle of a community that actually wants her, facing her own prankster demons.

Of course this novel is exceedingly well-written, Jincy Willett is talented. At first, I wasn't certain the mystery/workshop drama was going to work, then I wasn't sure how it was going to work. Somehow it did and I - glassy eyed and pleased - closed my book at 1:30 in the morning and sighed. Because, really, that's all I could do.