Uncommon Type

I really wanted to like this collection because I really like Tom Hanks (to the degree that I'd honestly break up with someone if they didn't, and don't trust anyone who says they don't like Forrest Gump). Honestly, it didn't even cross my mind that this book would be bad. Seriously, didn't consider that prospect. That's how much I respect Tom Hanks. But the truth is... this book kind of sucked. Really sucked. Was a tick short of insufferable.

I hate to say it (Tom, if you're reading, please know I've lost NO respect for you as an actor), but every story was pretty cliche. It felt like snippets of movies he's been in, each playing into common tropes and themes and ending in seemingly random places that had no emotional weight. I would finish a story and, each time, think “Oh... so that's it?” (Incidentally, exactly how I felt at the end of The Terminal — which I still watch every time I catch it on tv). The writing isn't bad, by any means. He's a fine writer. The dialogue isn't too shabby. He experimented with different styles, none more or less successful than the others. Characters feel fairly realistic (again, in a taken-from-the-big-screen kind of way). There's just no punch. Short stories need a punch. So all said and done... Tom should stick to the movies.

I really wanted to love this, as in movies, I'm a huge fan of Tom Hanks. It's clear he has ability when it comes to the written word. His characters were believeable, and felt like they came from somewhere. Unfortunately though, there wasn't a lot to them. They all had the same speech patterns in the end, and were mostly bland and uninteresting. Hopefully he keeps at it though, and grows his craft like we know he can. If he can bring his writing up to where his acting is. We are in for a treat.

I love Tom Hanks. He's an incredible actor, and seems like a thoroughly wonderful human in real life. Affable, genial, decent. I kind of wish he could be my uncle.

Then it turns out he collects typewriters - and has perhaps used them to knock out a collection of stories, featuring typewriters. As a lover of words and books, and admirer of typewritten text, this is seeming to be all too much. How the stars are aligning! What magnificent tales might Uncle Tom whisper into my eager ears?

Well, unfortunately, it seems Tom is just too nice. His stories are all of the apple pie, white picket fence, “aw shucks”, “American dream” variety that is sickly sweet and devoid of any flavour.

His characters literally say things like “jeez” and “yowza”, wish happy birthday by saying “hoopy boofy” or zanily swear by saying “Jiminy expletive!”. Every single one of them. This isn't how normal people talk - unless it's your parents (or your favourite uncle?!) trying to mimic the current slang to show just how cool and happening they are.

These bland and untroubled characters live in saccharine worlds where no problems exist, other than simple ones they make up for themselves, or are easily fixed by some sub-Dickensian coincidence before anything gets too real.

And as if the twee characters and trite storylines weren't bad enough but the writing is just so... bland. There's not a sniff of an interesting metaphor, or poetic observation. The only characteristic of the writing is the same kooky, gee whiz Walton-esque sing-song nonsense that the characters seem to embody.

I'm so disappointed. The lovable squeeziness and gentle lovability that make Hanks so charming and wonderful in real life just don't cut it when written down in story form. Clearly the complexity and nuance that he can embody so well comes from those who write the parts he plays.

The Sunday Times reviewer seems to have nailed this issue, in a damned-with-faint-praise sentence that the publishers have included on the cover seemingly without irony: “The great strengths of this collection are decency and sentimentality.”

Unfortunately, these wonderful characteristics don't make for interesting or entertaining reading.