The Great Man Theory by Teddy Wayne

Published by Bloomsbury Publishing on July 12, 2022

Like Loner and Apartment, The Great Man Theory is about a man whose true nature is at odds with his self-image. Paul is a 46-year-old academic, an instructor (demoted from lecturer for budgetary reasons) at a private New York City college for rich kids who can’t get into NYU. Paul has never been able to make the jump to professor, largely because of his limited publication history. He teaches writing but his own obscure essays are rarely published, likely because few people would want to read them. That’s fine with Paul, because anything that appeals to the masses is too trendy or superficial for Paul’s refined sensibilities.

Paul prides himself on eschewing technology (his mobile phone isn’t a smart phone) and won’t let his daughter Mabel watch significant amounts of television or have a phone with a screen. Paul is writing a book, The Luddite Manifesto, about the negative impact of social media and digital communications on attention spans, civility, and intellect. He has a publishing contract with an academic publisher and hopes the book will put him on track to a better academic job.

To make ends meet until he can conjure the life he believes he deserves, Paul becomes a rideshare driver, a gig that requires him to purchase a cheap smartphone. After an internal struggle, he begins leaving comments on a left-leaning news site, justifying his participation in social media as research for his book. To justify his thrill at receiving likes, he begins to post long comments as an antidote to the brief comments that (in his view) dumb down discourse. He gains a certain following, all while telling himself that he is elevating the digital form by posting meaningful analysis.

Paul’s is the story of a deteriorating life. He has a talent for shooting himself in the foot. Adderall doesn’t help him write as much as he thinks it does. To save money, he moves in with his mother but soon damages his relationship with her. He then damages his relationship with his daughter, his ex-wife, his employer, his colleagues, and his publisher.

Paul isn’t necessarily an evil person (or not until the novel ends), but he’s judgmental and a hypocrite. He fails to recognize any of those traits, in part because he is convinced that his critical judgments are reasonable and warranted. He bashes his students and the entire generation to which they belong because they don’t read printed books. He accuses them of expressing themselves in soundbites instead of nuanced thought. When a student writes a clever essay (in images and soundbites) that pushes back, Paul gives her an unwarranted D out of spite. The novel suggests that critics who view social media as dumbing down the populace should listen to the perspectives of bright young people who are no more dumbed down than boomers who grew up watching television.

Paul criticizes fellow liberals as elitist without bothering to learn about the work they are quietly doing to make society better. Yet Paul is not fundamentally different than his “elitist” friends; their tastes are the same and Paul’s meager resources stem from professional failure, not from sacrifice. But Paul doesn’t listen to his friends, his students, his daughter, or anyone else. He’s too busy being self-absorbed.

Paul isn’t necessarily creepy, but he gives off a creepiness vibe. It comes through when he insists on applying lotion to his daughter’s body, when he feels sad that, at age 11, she no longer wants to sleep in his bed, when he wants to sit in his parked car with a student to help her with an essay. The student — the one who got a D — may have misconstrued Paul’s intent (their conversation is ambiguous) or may be retaliating for a bad grade when she complains about harassment, but the truth is never entirely clear.

The Great Man Theory pokes fun at academia, bigots, Trump, and liberals who are too quick to judge others for not rigidly adhering to liberal doctrine. Wayne skewers schools that tell professors to avoid assigning books that have “trigger words,” schools that presume the fragility of marginalized students and fear disturbing them — as if education should never disturb students, never challenge students to understand the context in which a writer like Richard Wright or Mark Twain might have used a trigger word.

The novel lampoons the anti-feminist attitude of a woman who produces a show for a conservative media organization, a job she only has because of feminism. The producer is irate when Paul asks her to pay for one of the expensive dinners they’ve had. She earns several multiples of Paul’s income but wonders if she can date a man who isn’t capable of taking care of her. Paul dates her because he imagines he might get booked as a guest (with a host who might be modeled after Hannity) so he can offer unexpected but well-reasoned arguments from a liberal perspective. It isn’t much a plan but Paul isn’t good at distinguishing realistic from foolish plans.

As the story nears its resolution, it becomes clear that the ending will be dark. The nature of the darkness is foreshadowed a bit, but the details are surprising.

While the story is apparently meant to be dark comedy, it is more amusing than funny. Still, my interest in Paul’s self-destruction never wavered. The Great Man Theory isn’t a particularly insightful dissection of the idiotic culture wars that divide America, but Teddy Wayne does offer some insight into how people who take themselves too seriously — people who love their own minds but don’t bother to consider how their words and actions might affect others — can become the kind of people they claim to despise.

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