Patrick Ryan’s Buckeye arrives as a quietly devastating exploration of how a single moment of passion can ripple through decades, transforming multiple families in ways both profound and irreversible. Set against the backdrop of Bonhomie, Ohio—a fictional town that feels utterly authentic in its post-World War II atmosphere—this novel demonstrates Ryan’s remarkable ability to weave intimate human drama into the larger fabric of American transformation.
The story begins with that stolen moment in 1945: Cal Jenkins, a man wounded by his inability to serve in the war due to a physical deformity, and Margaret Salt, a woman harboring her own secrets, coming together in the euphoric aftermath of VE Day. This brief encounter sets in motion a chain of events that will haunt both families for generations, particularly affecting their sons—Skip Jenkins and Tom Salt—who grow up unaware of their true relationship.
Character Development: Flawed Humanity at Its Finest
Ryan’s greatest strength lies in his nuanced character development. Cal Jenkins emerges as neither hero nor villain, but as a deeply human figure wrestling with his limitations and desires. His physical disability has left him feeling inadequate, particularly in an era when military service defined masculinity. Ryan avoids the trap of making Cal’s infidelity sympathetic simply because of his circumstances; instead, he presents it as the complex moral failing it is, while still allowing readers to understand the emotional landscape that led to his choices.
Margaret Salt proves equally complex—a woman trying to reinvent herself but ultimately trapped by the very secrets she’s created. Her departure from Bonhomie near the novel’s end feels both inevitable and heartbreaking, a necessary escape from a web of deception that has become impossible to untangle.
The supporting characters are equally well-drawn. Becky Jenkins, with her spiritual gifts as a medium, provides an ethereal counterpoint to the earthbound struggles of the other characters. Her ability to commune with the dead adds a mystical element that never feels forced or gimmicky, but rather serves as a metaphor for the way the past continues to speak to the present.
Historical Context: More Than Just Period Dressing
Ryan demonstrates impressive skill in grounding his narrative in specific historical moments without letting the research overwhelm the story. The post-war boom, the Vietnam War, and the social upheavals of the 1960s aren’t merely backdrop but active forces shaping his characters’ choices and limitations. The way Skip Jenkins’s eventual death in Vietnam connects to larger questions about American identity and purpose feels organic rather than heavy-handed.
The author’s depiction of small-town Ohio captures both its insularity and its connection to larger world events. Bonhomie becomes a microcosm of mid-century America, complete with its racial tensions, economic anxieties, and evolving social norms.
Narrative Structure: Time as Character
One of Ryan’s most impressive achievements is his handling of time. The novel spans several decades, yet never feels rushed or episodic. Instead, Ryan allows certain moments to breathe while accelerating through others, creating a rhythm that mirrors how memory actually works—some moments crystalline in their clarity, others compressed into rapid montages of change.
The way past and present interact throughout the narrative creates a sense of inevitability while still maintaining suspense. Readers know something significant happened between Cal and Margaret, but the full implications only gradually become clear.
Thematic Resonance: Love, Guilt, and the Weight of Truth
The novel’s central theme—how secrets shape and sometimes destroy families—never feels didactic. Ryan understands that people often keep secrets not out of malice but out of a misguided desire to protect others. The tragic irony is that these well-intentioned deceptions often cause more harm than the truth would have.
The spiritual element, embodied in Becky’s abilities, adds another layer to this theme. If the dead can speak to the living, what about the truths buried among the living themselves? Ryan uses this supernatural element subtly, never allowing it to overshadow the very human drama at the story’s center.
Critical Assessment: Strengths and Limitations
Ryan’s prose style deserves particular praise. He writes with a clarity that serves the story without calling attention to itself, allowing readers to become fully immersed in the world he’s created. His dialogue feels authentic to the period without becoming a pastiche of mid-century speech patterns.
However, the novel occasionally suffers from a certain emotional distance. While this restraint serves the story well in many ways—preventing it from becoming melodramatic—there are moments when a deeper emotional engagement with the characters might have enhanced the impact. Some readers may find themselves wanting more direct access to the characters’ inner lives, particularly during the most crucial moments of revelation and decision.
The pacing, while generally strong, does lag slightly in the middle sections as Ryan works to maintain multiple character perspectives across several decades. Not every subplot receives equal development, and some promising threads—particularly those involving the wider community of Bonhomie—feel somewhat underexplored.
Literary Comparisons and Context
Buckeye by Patrick Ryan fits comfortably alongside other works of literary historical fiction that explore the hidden costs of the American Dream. Readers of Richard Ford’s Frank Bascombe series or Kent Haruf’s Plainsong will find similar territory here—the examination of ordinary people dealing with extraordinary moral complexity.
Ryan’s previous work includes the story collections The Dream Life of Astronauts and Send Me, both of which showcase his ability to find profound meaning in seemingly mundane situations. Buckeye represents a natural evolution of these skills into longer form, allowing him more space to develop the intricate character relationships that are his forte.
Similar Reading Recommendations
Readers who appreciate Buckeye by Patrick Ryan should consider:
- “Olive Kitteridge” by Elizabeth Strout – Another exploration of small-town American life with complex, flawed characters
- “The Light We Lost” by Jill Santopolo – For its examination of how a single moment can define multiple lives
- “A Man Called Ove” by Fredrik Backman – Similar themes of hidden depths in seemingly ordinary people
- “The Poisonwood Bible” by Barbara Kingsolver – For its multi-generational family saga and historical backdrop
- “Everything I Never Told You” by Celeste Ng – Another novel about family secrets and their devastating consequences
Final Verdict
Buckeye by Patrick Ryan succeeds as both an intimate family drama and a broader meditation on American life in the mid-twentieth century. Ryan has crafted a novel that respects both its characters and its readers, refusing to provide easy answers to complex moral questions while still delivering a deeply satisfying reading experience.
The novel’s greatest achievement may be its portrayal of how ordinary people become complicit in their own tragedies—not through any grand gestures or dramatic decisions, but through the accumulation of small compromises and well-intentioned deceptions. In an era of social media oversharing and public confession, Buckeye reminds us of a time when secrets had real power, and of the continuing human cost of the truths we choose not to tell.
This is literary fiction at its finest—thoughtful, beautifully written, and ultimately moving. While it may not provide the emotional catharsis some readers seek, it offers something perhaps more valuable: a clear-eyed examination of how we become who we are, and how the choices of one generation echo through the next.
