The Adventures of Augie March is just another rendition of the sub-genre: “1950s American literature following the irresponsible and purposeless wandering of a young man.” Also in this sub-genre is On the Road. The internet tells me I’m referring to the “postwar American drifter” archetype. Although I wanted to like Augie, and I did, I’m not a fan of the book. It felt as plotless and unsatisfactory as poor Augie’s life.
Augie is a good guy at heart, he’s got some talent, and he tries, or at least gives a modest effort to do the right thing at various points. I just wanted him to get his life together, and he never did. I like a good rambling journey through life, but this is the unprincipled version. David Copperfield is the good version of this type of literature. You can also call David Copperfield a bildungsroman, which I would not use for Augie March, because even though Augie gets older, he doesn’t mature and find his purpose. I suppose he does realize the ways in which he messed up, and he does get married, but that doesn’t really work out, either.
I did, however, enjoy the writing style. It was mostly light-hearted and fun to read. But it should absolutely not make the list of contenders for the Great American Novel, as what are the distinctly American themes? Rambling? Irresponsibility? Caprice? Dilettantism? Non-commitment? As I’ve said before, I think there should be some element of aspiration in great literature.
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