Woody Allen’s novel, WHAT’S WITH BAUM?, is so, so Woody Allen that it’s almost painful. But in a delightful way, if you’re a Woody Allen fan.
But is it a novel? Or is it a novella, which, as far as I’m concerned simply means “a short novel”? Or is it a really, really long short story?
Doesn’t matter. It’s vintage Woody Allen and it works.
All the familiar things are here in Baum, who is surely the author: a fear of everything, an obsession with death, a dislike of the country, a love of the city, complicated creative and family relations, an absurd sense of humor, brushes with hypochondria and ticks and suspicious-looking moles, and rivalry and reflexive falling-in-love.
Leaving aside news and tabloids and gossip, Woody is not pathological or in need of a diagnosis; rather, he is a gifted adult, which is a gifted child who draws Social Security. He is also an HSP, or “highly-sensitive personality”. His protagonist Baum rubs against this, and against hysteria, and talks to himself – in public, even – and Allen glues this together in a light, readable, fun book.
I’m not sure that it makes sense to try to dig out deeper meaning from WHAT’S WITH BAUM? It’s entertainment. I suppose if you want to stretch things, it shows how creative rivalries in the publishing industry work, or how romances and marriages and divorces come about.
The most remarkable thing is that at 89, Woody Allen has not missed a beat. This is prime, even peak Allen at work. Sure, he’s working the same garden, not breaking new ground.
But he doesn’t have to. He’s proving that aging does not have to be a thing. Neither does adversity. What a lesson!