Getting old is not for the faint of heart. You are no longer young in looks or temperament, and if you continue to engage in the indiscretions of your twenties, you become a cautionary tale: the sad, middle-aged person who’s desperate to regain the flame of youth. Whatever choices you’ve made, good or bad, have solidified into what is, for better or worse, your life. Starting over isn’t really an option.

Jonathan Harper captures the ennui of midlife perfectly with his protagonist, Morris, a man who is lost in more ways than one. He has been drifting through life, not fully committing to his long-term girlfriend, Yasmin, to his job in the advertising department of a local newspaper outside DC, or to his novel-in-progress. He’s in the final days of his stay at a writer’s retreat in an unnamed small American town when he bumps into an old flame. Henry’s a drifter and a grifter, a boyish charmer constantly updating his Rolodex of older men. Once Morris’ good friend and occasional lover, Henry is now a gnomish shadow of his former self: “From a distance, the stranger might have looked young, if not boyish. But up close, he was unnaturally weathered: round cheeks speckled with sunspots, crinkles around the eyes, his hair a tangled crow’s nest. He grinned impishly as if on the verge of telling a crude joke.” 

Morris’ encounter with Henry triggers the plot, which is centered on Morris’ increasingly desperate attempts to return home. However, thanks to a series of misfortunes and frustrating acts of self-sabotage, Morris remains trapped in the town, constantly missing his flight, and later, losing his wallet and phone. Some of these events are out of Morris’ control: a power outage, an incompetent cab driver. Others involve bad choices on his part: drinking to excess, oversleeping, waking up in the middle of nowhere with people he doesn’t know. While Morris doesn’t want to lose his job or Yasmin, he is desperate to regain the freedom of youth, at least temporarily. He is drawn to a group of gay and bisexual men who gather at the Oasis, a secluded inn. There is Atherton, a cop; Cook, the owner; Jack, the grillmaster, and, of course, Henry. Other men come and go as well. At the Oasis, they can relax and unwind, away from the prying eyes of the small conservative town, grilling, drinking, and skinny-dipping, open in their sexuality in ways they can’t be in public. 

Morris is not the only character who is trapped, either physically or metaphysically. While the town attracts its fair share of tourists, it also tricks a few people just passing through that its Victorian cobblestones and café patios are more than just a quaint veneer. Morris encapsulates the shallow appeal of the town when he says, “In a town like this, it was easy to fall into the sin of sloth. The town was not large, and there was little to do but eat and drink.” This is the case for both Jack and Henry. Jack, once “the best short-order cook from Tulsa,” came to the town “nine or ten years ago and loved it so much, he never left.” He’s described as “the houseguest who never leaves until one day, you can’t imagine life without him.” Jack captures his ambivalence when he retorts, “Guest or prisoner?”     

The longer Morris remains in town, the more its touristy middle-American veneer begins to crack, revealing dark secrets and perils. Part of the danger comes from a group of well-connected homophobes who engage in violent mob tactics while everyone in town looks the other way. However, these bigots are not the only threat; there is something ominous lurking beneath the surface of the Oasis as well. This tension is best foreshadowed by the statue of Christ at the center of town: “Somewhere, on the opposite ridge, was the imposing Jesus statue. He’d seen it his first day, the colossal structure that peered over downtown, arms outstretched as if it held dominion. At first, the statue disturbed him. Over time, it was another detail to admire.” On the one hand, a kind of religious homophobia is baked into the economic structure of the town, one that everyone tacitly agrees to turn a blind eye to. On the other, Morris continually ignores his instincts for danger as he passively drifts through life. Perhaps most distressingly, this quote foreshadows the choice Morris must make in order to escape the clutches of the town and those with sinister intentions; actions he would have once condemned become a necessary evil. In the end, no one escapes the arms of the statue or its judgments.                  

Harper’s novel effectively explores the ambivalence of adulthood, especially how the intense friendships forged in early adulthood sometimes persist long past their expiration date. It also challenges the idea that after a certain point, we are who we are. Even at midlife, a core identity is not indelible. We can always change. Whether that change is good or bad, especially for a man like Morris, remains to be seen.  

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Jonathan Harper graduated with his MFA in Creative Writing from American University. He adores writing in coffee shops. His short story collection, Daydreamers (Lethe Press, 2015), was named by Kirkus as one of the top indie releases of the year. He resides in Virginia with his husband.

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Melissa Reddish’s stories have appeared in Gargoyle, Raleigh Review, and Grist, among others. She is the author of My Father is an Angry Storm Cloud (Tailwinds Press, 2016), Girl & Flame (Conium Books, 2017), and The Lives We’ve Yet to Live (Tailwinds Press, 2022).