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Some
books are so captivating that reading them is like wearing
a stranger's clothes. To read Last Night at the Lobster
is to slip into a well-worn leather jacket—specifically,
one that belongs to Manny DeLeon, the manager of a Red Lobster
in a suburban Connecticut mall. Because of corporate restructuring,
Manny has one last day to serve his customers and wrap up
his affairs before they shut down his restaurant.
"Easily
thirty-five, double-chinned, his skin cocoa, a wiry goatee
and sideburns," Manny doesn't fit the stereotype of a pain-in-the-ass
supervisor. He smokes pot, he likes to hire troubled kids
off the street, and he might be more in love with Jacquie—a
server at Red Lobster—than with his own wife. On his
final day, Manny suffers a crisis of faith: Is he just another
cog in the food service industry, or has he turned his career
into something valuable? Last Night at the Lobster
hinges on that question. It's a short, captivating book that
shows how the heroism and heartbreak of the 9-to-5 are often
inseparable from each other.
Clearly,
Stewart O'Nan has eaten at Red Lobster more than once: His
depiction of the inner workings of the restaurant is precise
and sympathetic. On a day that is already tinged with conflicting
emotions, Manny has to deal with some difficult customers.
When
he returns, the little kid has abandoned the booster seat
and is hanging off his mother's neck like a possum while
she talks with her friend. The mother orders another Sprite
for him, which he immediately spills, the ice sliding
across the table, wetting everything, dripping off the
side. Manny helps Nicolette slop it up. After they change
the silverware, the mother asks them to replace the Sprite
at no charge because he'd barely touched it. The kid's
still climbing all over the booth, snapping crayons in
half, tossing gnawed-on oyster crackers.
He rolls
up his sleeves and covers for the employees who bailed on
him.
A
kitchen is about pacing, everyone meshing at the same
speed. The hardest thing is starting from zero. As always,
Manny tries to lead by example. He gets the radio going
and stands shoulder to shoulder with Leron, skewering
garlic shrimp, when really he should be snowblowing the
front walk.
And he
negotiates the long-simmering feuds among his co-workers.
On
his way outside, he passes Kendra just standing at the
host stand, and he senses—and he's sure he's right—that
the power struggle here isn't between him and her or Nicolette
and Jacquie but between Kendra and Nicolette, a long-standing
beef between seater and server he's done his best to referee.
It's their last day, so no one's going to flinch, and
Manny's not dumb enough to try to get both of them to
surrender.
Another
writer might have looked at the raw material for this novel
and fallen asleep. But O'Nan sinks his fingers into the suds,
and comes up with something clean and shiny. He finds nobility
in Manny's work—in everything from scrubbing the dishes
to doling out paychecks. Even when it seems to Manny that
all his efforts are inconsequential and will never be appreciated,
he still fires up the grill, dotes on his regular customers,
and clears the ice from the walkway. He's optimistic that
something valuable will come of all his work, even though
he can't imagine what.
The last
day at Red Lobster is a disappointment: A blizzard scares
the customers away. Manny catches his bartender stealing liquor,
and learns the truth about his relationship with Jacquie.
Even his beloved leather jacket is slashed by an unhappy cook.
Nothing seems to go Manny's way. But Last Night at the
Lobster is a moving success: a portrait of a man who knows,
against all evidence to the contrary, that it's always better
to keep going. Stewart O'Nan has a knack for turning the blue
collar into a badge of honor, and with this miniature epic,
he has crafted a moving tribute to the drama and nobility
of the working life.
(September,
2008)
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