John Darnielle – Wolf in White Van
Wolf in White Van begins at its end and works backwards, exploring deeply—but not too deeply—the circumstances that led a man to a point that could possibly be described as his happy ending, but calling it that doesn’t feel quite right. Perhaps it’s best described as a contented conclusion; turning on the axis of a pivotal moment that turned a troubled, social, growing young man into the secluded monster he always hoped he could be. Though, after saying all this, I should probably explain, so let’s start at the beginni—uh, I mean, the ending.
John Darnielle is most commonly known for his work as the indie folk artist The Mountain Goats. Some people may know him as their husband, father, or regular customer, but in general I believe he has reached most of his fame through his music, and more notoriously, his lyrics. Darnielle is frequently lauded as one of the greatest lyricists of all time, and his way with words isn’t overstated. Just listen to songs like ‘No Children’ and ‘Dance Music’ and you’ll quickly understand the man’s capability to weave strong, emotional stories through his simple, but meticulously thought-out, prose. This brings us to the topic of today’s review: Wolf in White Van; or, Darnielle’s debut novel.
You know how in most good stories you’re handed a bunch of circumstances, and you’re left there knowing jack shit until you get all the way through to the end, your questions slowly getting answered along the way? Well, Wolf in White Van is the opposite. Darnielle’s writing gives you all of the answers from the get-go. You know all of the conclusions to his story, but you just have to scratch your head and read on because you have no idea what the story actually is. This uncertainty is one of the text’s biggest drawing points, since it sucks you in faster than you would usually like. You read on, desperately piecing the story together, trying to make it seem like you totally get what happened in that book by that cool new writer who is in that popular indie band your friends love…but this backwards premise is also one of the things that makes this story the hardest to describe, or review, because the more I reveal about the premise of the story, the more of the bulk of the book I’m giving away.
So anyway, our protagonist, Sean Phillips, narrates the story, reflecting on where he is now, and how he got there. Sean is disfigured, and has been since an “accident” at age seventeen. His facial deformity left him a social outcast; his only frequent interaction occurs with his nurse, who drops by for home visits on a regular basis. For a job, Sean runs several RPG text-based games that are played via snail mail, even far into the Internet revolution. Though the invention of the Internet slowed his success, his first and most popular game, Trace Italian, still manages to pay the rent. After creating Trace Italian, Sean developed strong personal connections to a small handful of players that came and went over the years. Despite never interacting with them on a personal level, he became attached to them through their playing styles, and the ways they would include personal information mixed in with their moves (even though, to them, he was just a “company” that remained impartial, merely sending them the next pre-set move in their Trace Italian journey).
To say the novel is non-linear is an understatement, because not only does it move backwards, but the story frequently shifts back and forth from the “present” to the past without much warning. The way these scenes are juxtaposed feels unclear for most of the story, and it’s not until you’ve read the last word, put down the book and reflected on what you’ve read, that you completely understand it and make all the connections. Moving from scenes of Sean recounting his childhood, to scenes of his modern-day interactions with people in the real world, the reader learns a lot about Sean and what makes him tick. Even though he tells such a deep and personal story, he’s constantly guarded, never letting readers in on more than he wants us to know. Much of the narrative remains a mystery, and Sean’s reasoning for many of his actions are never properly explained. Readers are merely there to observe how his decisions mould him into what he becomes, rather than learn how he arrives at those decisions.
A considerable portion of Wolf in White Van focuses on Sean’s relationship with two teenagers, Lance and Carrie, who play his game. Sean has never actually talked to them, but he becomes invested in their lives through the personal messages they leave in their plays. Even though these kids start out in the book as dead and disfigured, the reader can later tie together the way young Lance parallels Sean with his motivations and willingness to get lost and become detached from a life where he feels like there is nothing else to do. It’s fair to say that Wolf in White Van is not a story that focuses on the what of it all. The reader is never left needing to know what happened, we merely sit back and observe how the things that happened affect and shape the man we know from the beginning of the novel.
It’s quite intriguing to see how much depth Darnielle packs into a novel that just barely surpasses 200 pages, and while the novel could definitely benefit from a little more elaboration in some places, it’s far from lacking. The real disappointment is knowing that, after one chapter has explored something you’re greatly interested in, you’ll never read about that topic again. It’s a constant pain knowing that you can’t turn the page and see a moment or relationship expand, simply because you’re reading from the story’s conclusion, and because you’re going further into the past, the moment is gone forever, not to be revisited. It’s a book that warrants multiple readings, multiple readings that you’ll more than happily indulge in. Wolf in White Van is a story full of sickness and sadness, a steady spiral into crushing defeat, ending on a grimmer note than most. But the beauty of finishing this book is realising that the end isn’t grim at all: it’s only the beginning.
