The Ha-Ha

November 15, 2004
Owing to a head injury he suffered 16 days into his Vietnam tour, Howard Kapostash, the narrator of King's graceful, measured debut novel, can neither speak, write nor read. Now middle-aged, Howard lives a lackluster existence in the house where he grew up, along with housemates Laurel, a Vietnamese-American maker of gourmet soups for local restaurants, and two housepainters—essentially interchangeable postcollege jocks—whom he refers to as Nit and Nat. But everything changes when Sylvia, the former girlfriend he's loved since high school, heads to drug rehab, saddling Howard with Ryan, her taciturn nine-year-old son. What happens over the course of the next couple hundred pages will not surprise readers—slowly, Nit and Nat learn responsibility, Laurel discovers her maternal side, Ryan opens up and Howie learns about life and love amid school concerts and Little League games—but it is lovingly rendered in careful, steady prose. Like Michael Cunningham's A Home at the End of the World
, the novel explores familial bonds arising between people with no blood ties, and if the novel lingers too long on its notes, thematic and otherwise—Howard often ruminates on the nature of his injury and the things he'd say if he could; his days vary little—it does so with poise and heart. Drama arises with Sylvia's return and Howard nearly loses it, but life and healing are now forever possible. Agent, Kim Goldstein at the Susan Golomb Literary Agency. 3-city author tour.

March 7, 2005
Kinney offers a deeply genuine performance of this subtle yet affecting novel told from the perspective of Howard Kapostash, a wounded Vietnam veteran whose injury has left him unable to read, write or speak, but who is, as the card he's always reluctant to give people points out, "of normal intelligence." After Howard agrees to look after his ex-girlfriend's son, Ryan, while she is in rehab, Ryan's presence profoundly alters the lives of Howard and his three housemates. The vital element to the success of this recording is how Kinney's reading voice meshes with Howard's narrative one. Kinney does an excellent job with Howard's various moods, from the quiet joy of watching Ryan's Little League practice to the simmering and occasionally explosive frustration of not being able to communicate his thoughts. He also slides easily between the Texas drawl of one character and the slangy banter of a feckless pair of 20-somethings living under Howard's roof. The production includes some aptly employed musical accompaniment. Soft piano, for instance, tinkles in the background as Howard remembers the mine explosion that injured him, and a buoyant, guitar-driven theme recurs but avoids being cloying or overdone. The same can be said for the book itself, which—though loosely predictable—remains earnest and inspiring. Simultaneous release with the Little, Brown hardcover (Forecasts, Nov. 15, 2004).

Starred review from November 1, 2004
A plot summary of this vibrant first novel may sound depressing, but King handles the story with honesty, skill, and humor. First-person narrator Howard Kapostash is unable to read or to speak coherently, the result of injuries suffered in Vietnam. Now middle-aged and living a low-key life in a large house he inherited from his parents, Howard is still friends with his former high school sweetheart, Sylvia. Before entering a drug rehab program, she entrusts Howard with her nine-year-old son, Ryan, completely upending Howard's lonely, disorganized existence. Also sharing his house are a Texas-raised Vietnamese woman, who runs a catering business, and two freewheeling young house painters. This unlikely family-heretofore all but strangers to one another-becomes a thriving parental unit centered on young Ryan. Everything begins to deteriorate, however, as the mother signals her return, and Howard fights in the only way he knows how to retain ties with Ryan. King writes convincingly from inside Howard, offering entertaining descriptions of the small triumphs and sometimes humorous, sometimes tragic mistakes of a man reaching out to the world from deep inside himself. Recommended for all collections. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 9/15/04; for a Q&A with King, see p. 74.]-Jim Coan, SUNY Coll. at Oneonta

Copyright 2004 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

September 15, 2004
Post-Vietnam, Howard Kapotash can't speak, read, or write, but there's still plenty going on in his head, especially when he starts caring for former girlfriend Sylvia's child. This debut from Pushcart Prize nominee King is getting a big push; with a three-city author tour.

Copyright 2004 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

December 1, 2004
King's compelling, compassionate debut revolves around Howie, who suffered a head injury in Vietnam and now can neither speak nor write. When Sylvia, an old girlfriend, asks Howie to care for Ryan, her nine-year-old biracial son, while she goes to a nearby detox center, Howie is initially overwhelmed by his new responsibilities but gradually falls into the role of father: making healthy breakfasts, listening to hip-hop, and signing Ryan up for a Little League team and even filling in as umpire. Howie and his three housemates proudly attend Ryan's end-of-the-year school program, and as the summer progresses, Howie dreads Sylvia's emergence from rehab--he can barely remember life before Ryan. Since his injury Howie has gradually withdrawn from all human contact except for the nuns at the convent where he mows the lawn and his stalwart group of housemates. Caring for Ryan has opened him up again to joy and sorrow, frustration and small accomplishments. The reader is drawn into Howie's world and roots for him with every first step he takes.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2004, American Library Association.)