Nicholson Baker's new novel, Traveling Sprinkler, picks up where The Anthologist left off--with Paul Chowder, poet and former bassoonist, now contemplating his 55th birthday, sharing a picnic with ex-girlfriend Roz.
Chowder is having a midlife re-assessment. He can't finish a single poem, but "I've published three books of poems and an anthology. That's plenty. Nobody wants to read more than three books of poems by anyone." He decides to return to music, buys a guitar and sets up a studio in his crumbling barn.
Baker being Baker, his novel is also chock-a-block with digressions and idiosyncrasies. A portion of his barn collapses, burying a lifetime of family correspondence and books (along with a canoe given to him by Roz, the source of much of the pleasure of their romance). His growing collection of walking sprinklers gives the novel its title, as well as a metaphor for Chowder's malaise: "I feel like a traveling sprinkler that's gotten off the hose. I don't know where I'm going."
It's the love story, however, that holds the novel together. Chowder works hard at his songwriting, and the music opens a door for Roz to return. At a club, they listen to his teen neighbor play one of Chowder's songs; the music pushes them into a sublime kiss. "Our mouths remembered what they had to say to each other," he reflects. Unable to leave a happy ending without an aside, Chowder turns to Roz: "I bought a new canoe," he tells her. "You want to take a ride in my new boat?" A new Nicholson Baker boat is always worth the ride. --Bruce Jacobs