Donald Barthelme is easily the most famous of the clan, but his brothers, Frederick and Steven, were also writers, English professors by profession and somewhat degenerate gamblers by choice. I read Bob the Gambler by Frederick (1997) first, and enjoyed it so much that I immediately located a copy of Double Down (1999), which I’ll discuss first.
Double Down is the joint memoir by both brothers, focusing on the years after the death of their parents (roughly a decade after Donald’s death to cancer). Their father, a somewhat renowned architect and early adopter of post-brutalist modernism, seems a profoundly difficult man, demanding and idiosyncratic, and there are unresolved gestures towards emotional abuse. Their mother, in contrast, is portrayed as the source of emotional solace, safety, and comfort in the family.
Ultimately for me, while often moving, the portrayal of the parents is lacking: the mix of the utterly binary nature of their roles in the boys’ psyches and the lack of compelling detail on where the great pain around their father’s behavior comes from leaves the picture far too incomplete for a book that is so … Freudian … in its structure (by that, I mean that the narrative itself presents the parental dynamics as the key to understanding who they are, then refuses to fully disclose those same dynamics; so, yeah, Freudian).
The brothers are both childless, teaching at the same university, and somewhat unsure of what’s next for them. Enter the newly-opened casinos along the Gulf Coast.
They go on a whim, instantly see the appeal of the flashing lights and potential riches. Their grief over their parents fuels their behavior, aided not insignificantly by their inheritance, which increases their tolerance for loss from a hundreds of dollars to thousands and, ultimately, tens of thousands.
This makes them favorites of the casino, with the enhanced treatment that carries with it, the sense of camaraderie with staff, the free rooms and easy access to markers to fuel more gambling. They are both aware of what is happening, and convinced that this strategy, this ritual, this bankroll management notion, will be the key to turning it all around.
And then, quite suddenly, the entire narrative is interrupted by a very strange set of occurrences, where the brothers are charged with felony crimes by the casino, which believes them to be part of a ring trying to “cheat the house.” The accusation seems ludicrous, given how much they consistently lose (and the charges are eventually dismissed), but the repercussions are serious–legal challenges, holding cells, the uncertainty of the future. Serious enough they stop gambling for a while, and serious enough that the memoir narrative is essentially derailed.
It all makes for a somewhat interesting, but ultimately unfulfilling read for me.
Which is in strong contrast to Bob the Gambler, which I thoroughly enjoyed. The narrative of this easy-to-read novella follows much of the memoir: the protagonist lives on the Gulf Coast, tries the casinos on a lark, quickly becomes a committed gambler.
But the story is anchored in a family that is portrayed with such skill and sweetness, especially the core trio of the protagonist, his partner, and his step-daughter, that there is a balance to the unmitigated loss of control that comes along with the gambling.
Yes, they lose everything. But they do it together and, if you will, intentionally. Yes, it puts their careers in jeopardy. But they make reasonable choices in light of that. And through it all, the family cares for each other, clearly prioritizing that above all (well, most) else.
It’s such a departure from the usual gambling fare, which either leaves the character in abject misery or phenomenal wealth. If there is a quibble, it’s tied to the ambiguity of the ending. But endings are hard, and I understand the choices made.
So … a strong recommendation for Bob the Gambler, if that kind of narrative subject appeals. And a much more tepid recommendation for Double Down, essentially only if you’re somewhat of a completist on gambling memoirs or have a particular obsession with the Barthelmes.
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