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The Imperfectionists: A Novel
by Tom Rachman

Published: 2011-01-04
Paperback : 304 pages
22 members reading this now
51 clubs reading this now
16 members have read this book
Recommended to book clubs by 12 of 17 members
One of most acclaimed books of the year, Tom Rachman's debut novel follows the topsy-turvy private lives of the reporters and editors of an English-language newspaper in ...
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Introduction

One of most acclaimed books of the year, Tom Rachman's debut novel follows the topsy-turvy private lives of the reporters and editors of an English-language newspaper in Rome.

Editorial Review

Amazon Best Books of the Month, April 2010 Printing presses whirr, ashtrays smolder, and the endearing complexity of humanity plays out in Tom Rachman's debut novel, The Imperfectionists. Set against the backdrop of a fictional English-language newspaper based in Rome, it begins as a celebration of the beloved and endangered role of newspapers and the original 24/7 news cycle. Yet Rachman pushes beyond nostalgia by crafting an apologue that better resembles a modern-day Dubliners than a Mad Men exploration of the halcyon past. The chaos of the newsroom becomes a stage for characters unified by a common thread of circumstance, with each chapter presenting an affecting look into the life of a different player. From the comically overmatched greenhorn to the forsaken foreign correspondent, we suffer through the painful heartbreaks of unexpected tragedy and struggle to stifle our laughter in the face of well-intentioned blunders. This cacophony of emotion blends into a single voice, as the depiction of a paper deemed a "daily report on the idiocy and the brilliance of the species" becomes more about the disillusion in everyday life than the dissolution of an industry. --Dave Callanan

Tom Rachman on The Imperfectionists

I grew up in peaceful Vancouver with two psychologists for parents, a sister with whom I squabbled in the obligatory ways, and an adorably dim-witted spaniel whose leg waggled when I tickled his belly. Not the stuff of literature, it seemed to me.

During university, I had developed a passion for reading: essays by George Orwell, short stories by Isaac Bashevis Singer, novels by Tolstoy. By graduation, books had shoved aside all other contenders. A writer--perhaps I could become one of those.

There was a slight problem: my life to date.

By 22, I hadn't engaged in a bullfight. I'd not kept a mistress or been kept by one. I'd never been stabbed in a street brawl. I'd not been mistreated by my parents, or addicted to anything sordid. I'd never fought a duel to the death with anyone.

It was time to remedy this. Or parts of it, anyway. I would see the world, read, write, and pay my bills in the process. My plan was to join the press corps, to become a foreign correspondent, to emerge on the other side with handsome scars, mussed hair, and a novel.

Years passed. I worked as an editor at the Associated Press in New York, venturing briefly to South Asia to report on war (from a very safe distance; I was never brave). Next, I was dispatched to Rome, where I wrote about the Italian government, the Mafia, the Vatican, and other reliable sources of scandal.

Suddenly--too soon for my liking--I was turning thirty. My research, I realized, had become alarmingly similar to a career. To imagine a future in journalism, a trade that I had never loved, terrified me.

So, with a fluttery stomach, I handed in my resignation, exchanging a promising job for an improbable hope. I took my life savings and moved to Paris, where I knew not a soul and whose language I spoke only haltingly. Solitude was what I sought: a cozy apartment, a cup of tea, my laptop. I switched it on. One year later, I had a novel.

And it was terrible.

My plan – all those years in journalism--had been a blunder, it seemed. The writing I had aspired to do was beyond me. I lacked talent. And I was broke.

Dejected, I nursed myself with a little white wine, goat cheese and baguette, then took the subway to the International Herald Tribune on the outskirts of Paris to apply for a job. Weeks later, I was seated at the copy desk, composing headlines and photo captions, aching over my failure. I had bungled my twenties. I was abroad, lonely, stuck.

But after many dark months, I found myself imagining again. I strolled through Parisian streets, and characters strolled through my mind, sat themselves down, folded their arms before me, declaring, "So, do you have a story for me?"

I switched on my computer and tried once more.

This time, it was different. My previous attempt hadn't produced a book, but it had honed my technique. And I stopped fretting about whether I possessed the skill to become a writer, and focused instead on the hard work of writing. Before, I had winced at every flawed passage. Now, I toiled with my head down, rarely peeking at the words flowing across the screen.

I revised, I refined, I tweaked, I polished. Not until exhaustion--not until the novel that I had aspired to write was very nearly the one I had produced--did I allow myself to assess it.

To my amazement, a book emerged. I remain nearly incredulous that my plan, hatched over a decade ago, came together. At times, I walk to the bookshelf at my home in Italy, take down a copy of The Imperfectionists, double-check the name on the spine: Tom Rachman. Yes, I think that's me.

In the end, my travels included neither bullfights nor duels. And the book doesn't, either. Instead, it contains views over Paris, cocktails in Rome, street markets in Cairo; the ruckus of an old-style newsroom and the shuddering rise of technology; a foreign correspondent faking a news story, a media executive falling for the man she just fired. And did I mention a rather adorable if slobbery dog?


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Suggested by Members

The readers guide in the book seemed adequate for stimulating conversation.
by janannette (see profile) 05/05/12

Notes From the Author to the Bookclub

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Book Club Recommendations

Member Reviews

Overall rating:
 
 
by beccadietrich (see profile) 08/22/15

 
by Tracyphillips (see profile) 07/12/15

 
by quilted (see profile) 12/30/14

 
  "The Imperfectionists"by bmullinax (see profile) 10/18/13

Made me feel a whole lot better about my own life...many of these characters had a pointless existence. Most of the characters had no real meaning to their lives. It is sad to know if there are people... (read more)

 
  "The Imperfectionists"by janannette (see profile) 05/05/12

I liked this book. I thought it was very courageous for a first time author to take on this writing style and that may account for the fact that it was sometimes confusing to keep the characters straight.(... (read more)

 
  "The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman"by aperrigo (see profile) 05/02/12

In a series of non-chronological vignettes, Rachman tells the story of an international English newspaper which was founded in the 1950s, had its glory days in the 1960s, and pretty much struggled from... (read more)

 
  "The Imperfectionists"by martykalkman (see profile) 01/06/12

Every chapter was about a different person and did not tie together until the end.

 
  "Complex and absorbing"by mvankirk (see profile) 09/13/11

I admired the author's ability to develop simultaneous plot lines while executing excellent character development. He captured the flaws and foibles of human behavior, and the complexities of the time... (read more)

 
  "The Imperfectionists"by stgarzon (see profile) 09/13/11

Rachman has incredible insight into people at all stages in their life journey. His character sketches are deep and often surprising, and he interweaves them in a way that is ultimately very satisfying.... (read more)

 
  "The Imperfectionists"by bomcreader (see profile) 08/18/11

I found this a funny, wry novel which seemed like a series of short stories (which I'm not particularly fond of), but ended up being an interesting interweaving of the lives in a small Italian newspaper.... (read more)

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