Grade: D

In 1936 a rowing team consisting of nine young men from Washington State swept through the national competition against boys much more privileged than them and represented, and won the gold for, their country in the Olympic games held in Nazi Germany. Set against the backdrop of the Great Depression and a looming World War II, The Boys in the Boat by Daniel James Brown is the story of these boys, their coach and a British rowing guru, and their journeys and trials as they face seemingly unbeatable odds. Some of this book is exciting and thrilling, usually when Brown allows the story to breathe on its own, but for the most part it descends into what feels like mushy propaganda.

Most of the book centers on Joe Rantz, a young man who had a tough upbringing. He was poor, his mother died, his stepmother hated him and forced his father to abandon him. A self-made man, more or less, Joe gets himself into college in Seattle and joins the rowing team more for material benefits it might bring than any love of the sport. His journey is one of learning to trust his teammates, overcoming his fear of loss, and losing himself in camaraderie. Sadly, Joe is so punishingly uninteresting that we’re not really sure why his teammates are so devoted to him. He comes off as that guy you work with that’s nice enough, but you never really invite him out for beers because you know, even with plenty of booze, it’ll be a painfully boring night. A few other team members are given some attention, though drawn pretty broadly with only basic characteristics expected to carry the weight of bringing them to life. The rest of the team is barely even mentioned except to acknowledge they were there. A decent amount of attention is given to the coach, Al Ubrickson, and the master boat builder, George Pocock. Again, there are some interesting facts about them, but Brown insists on keeping them at arm’s length the entire time.

Other than a lack of people we care anything for, this book fails for two reasons. The first is that Brown desperately wants us to understand just how hard a sport rowing is. It’s like he already accepted that most people reading this book are going to think the sport is kind of lame and for silly rich people, so he overcompensates by dedicating huge portions of the book to explain the toll it can take on a body. It’s interesting enough information, I suppose, but so much effort spent on this tends to make me doubt the sincerity. The second failing is that Brown seems to think that this story should make me feel proud to be an American just by reading it. There is a real ra-ra patriotic vibe that’s totally unnecessary. Instead of just making it a great underdog story, Brown creates a scenario where pure American gumption and can-do attitude prevails against the rigid, robotic Germans. If there’s any doubt as to what point he’s trying to make, he lays it on thick enough to choke on in the final passages of the book. He puts himself into the story, stands in the same spot Hitler watched the fateful race, and boasts “Standing there, watching them, it occurred to me that when Hitler watched Joe and the boys fight their way back from the rear of the field to sweep ahead of Italy and Germany seventy-five years ago, he saw, but did not recognize, heralds of his doom. He could not have known that one day hundreds of thousands of boys just like them, boys who shared their essential natures – decent and unassuming, not privileged or favored by anything in particular, just loyal, committed, and perseverant – would return to Germany dressed in olive drab, hunting him down.” This is pure manipulation, pure bullshit. Brown doesn’t trust his story enough, so he bends into something it isn’t, a forced poignancy that robs Joe and his teammates of their hard-earned, pure victory, by pushing the same ignorant theory that Hitler did in his day. That our boys were better because of where they came from, the spirit that only hard-working, good-natured Americans can own.

Sports are inherently exciting, it’s in their very nature. It’s why we love them and keep coming back for more and tell story of championships and defeats for generations after the events. Manipulating them into something bigger is unnecessary and harmful. Bask in the victory, revel in the amazing narratives a championship, especially an underdog one, can produce, and always search for the essential humanity in the storylines. But never use a game to push your own agendas. There is a great story here, one of perseverance and overcoming all sorts of tribulations, but sadly the one that is written cares more about what these boys are metaphors for than their humanity.