When I got the selection of books for the February Christian Fiction Blog Alliance Tour, I had to select My Name Is Russell Fink but not for reasons which may or may not seem obvious. In fact, I knew I would not be the target audience for this novel—and it’s important to admit that to prospective readers just as it’s only fair to the book’s author to know it, too. The author, Michael Snyder, is a regular contributor to “The Master’s Artist” and an occasional visitor to other blogs such as Mike Duran’s “Decompose”, while being the lone creator of his own blog “My Name Is Michael Snyder” (http://snyderman.blogspot.com/). He’s also a musician, has written short stories, and is working on his second novel.
Just from what little I “know” of Michael Snyder, I have learned he is exceedingly self-deprecating, more than a little uncomfortable with marketing his work (and, boy, do I get that), and it’s easy to tell he’s a truly nice guy, Christian, husband, and father.
So why in the world would I not consider myself one of his target audience people? Well . . . because I had a feeling he would write a novel much like he writes blog posts and comments, and while I find him both congenial and amusing, his genre—however it’s defined—is not one I would seek out to read. Having said all that, I’m not at all sorry I read My Name Is Russell Fink.
Michael is a good writer. Period. In his style, he is consistent and unrelenting with his characters. They are who they are. Quirky, bizarre, dysfunctional, vulnerable, even scary to a point, and troubled by the life struggles each one experiences. The only other CBA author I can think of who comes close to his style is Ray Blackston, and he’s not the same. The story is told in the first person by Russell Fink, the surviving hypochondriac brother of a twin sister who has tragically died many years before the story begins.
If you’re expecting a powerful plot amidst all the freakish behavior, don’t. There is a little mystery involving the death of the family’s Bassett Hound, Sonny, who Russell indulges with “whiskey biscuits”, convinced the dog gives clairvoyant responses to yes or no questions of importance while the dog is inebriated. This event is woven around the scary theatrics of Russell’s fiancée, who he doesn’t love, his job which he hates, a cranky neighbor who he suspects of foul play against his dog, a boss who dreads and postpones firing him, a receptionist who aids him in landing the best sales account of his career and with whom he’s in love, a conniving, gambling older brother, a “healing preacher” father who fell from grace, and a quasi-alcoholic mother, not to mention the frigidly cold (physically) but compassionate pet cemetery counselor and gadget inventor for whom he house-sits and then becomes a roommate.
If I were to guess what the earlier Woody Allen films were like, I’d guess they were similar to this novel, but I don’t know because I’ve only seen one of his latest (“Match Point”), and it was dreadful. His older films were said to be oddball, humorous, and human, and this is the nature of My Name Is Russell Fink. Written almost in a stream of consciousness form as life plays out before Russell and to Russell, it is easy to stay with the story and its unique cleverness. My favorite scene in the novel involved a funeral, and I very much appreciated the ending.
This is a good first effort with enough truth to the flawed cast of characters to make it almost believable, and for those readers who look for both underlying humor and dry wit along with those occasional slapstick moments melded together with a few touching snippets just to keep the emotions engaged, My Name Is Russell Fink is most definitely the book for you.
Father, I pray for Michael Snyder’s talents to be used for your glory. I pray you would continue to give him insights from your word and his life to commit to story form for both entertainment and those poignant moments of truth. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0310277272
*These are very difficult times for the Dykes’ family. Please pray for Kristy Dykes.*