J. F. Powers (1917–1999)

I have read both of JF Powers' novels and all (I think) of his short stories. In fact I remember seeing his first book of stories, PRINCE OF DARKNESS, in a paperback rack in the vestibule of our Catholic church when I was a boy back the 1950s. I read MORTE D'URBAN in college in the late sixties and have read it a few more times since then. I was very pleased to see all of his work back in print from NYRB Press a few years back, and even purchased those editions of WHEAT THAT SPRINGETH GREEN and COLLECTED STORIES - and read them again. So I think its safe to say I am a longtime fan.

Since Powers only published five books, I was really looking forward to finally reading SUITABLE ACCOMMODATIONS, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL STORY OF FAMILY LIFE: THE LETTERS OF J.F. POWERS, 1942-1963 (2013), collected and edited by his daughter, Katherine A. Powers (named, incidentally, for author Katherine Ann Porter). Sadly, I found it to be a disappointment, and almost wish I hadn't read it. Some of the early letters were written from prison. Powers was incarcerated for more than a year during the war for ignoring his draft notice after his bid for conscientious objector status was refused. Upon his parole, he was forced to work as a hospital orderly for a time.

Powers' later letters do display his determination to earn a living by his writing, a goal he never quite properly achieved, living on the edge of poverty and taking loans and charity from his in-laws and friends throughout his life. I felt sorry for his long-suffering wife, Betty, who bore most of the burdens of their ever-expanding family (five children) and multiple moves into shoddy rentals around Minnesota as well as overseas to Ireland and back (at least twice). What I found most annoying in the letters was ample evidence of what seemed to be laziness, entitlement, and a lack of discipline about his writing as well as a steady stream of complaining, whining even, about his life. And even some begging, wheedling letters to his clergy friends, asking for "loans" he would never repay. And all this in spite of the fact that he was offered multiple decent-paying jobs at various colleges and universities, which he turned down.

I kept reading the letters because I assumed things would change for the better for Powers and his family when MORTE D'URBAN won the NBA in 1963. Nope. The thousand dollar prize didn't go far for the financially strapped family of seven, and Powers' lack of discipline in his craft failed to capitalize on his newfound "fame."

Powers lived until 1999, but only published two more books after that NBA.

So, despite all the 'cleverness' often on display in the letters, I found myself disliking the man behind the books and stories I have so long admired. He is too self-centered too lazy, too selfish. But his books remain. And they are priceless in their portrayals of Catholic parish life in the mid-twentieth century. These letters? Nope.

- Tim Bazzett, author of the memoir, BOOKLOVER… (mere)

Powers' second and final novel, and much better than his pretty damn good Morte D'Durban. Wheat took forever to write, which is usually a very bad thing, but in this case Powers somehow makes it work, perhaps because the usual late style stuff (pessimism, grouchiness and so on) fits so well with the late stages of this book. Father Hackett watches his small world change with good humor and dismay; he might not admit it, but it's fairly clear that he himself is just as much to blame for those changes as anyone. The Walmart-style store takes over from the old mall, and takes over from the church as well. Everything centers more and more on money--which is precisely what Hackett's life has centered on. And his final pilgrimage is a beautiful end to the novel. As with all of Powers' work, it's exceptionally well written, funny and affecting. Is it innovative? No. Is it formally interesting? Not in the slightest. But it's exceptionally well done for all that.… (mere)