THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN, by Matt Haig
Matt Haig’s novels should come with a warning label: If you’re young, think you’re invincible and/or are allergic to nostalgia, steer clear.
But for readers of a certain age and inclination — game for a good cry, tolerant of wistfulness — Haig’s books are tried and true. Consider “The Midnight Library,” Haig’s seventh novel for adults, which spent two years on the best-seller list and sold over 10 million copies. It has more than 200,000 reviews on Amazon, including ones so revealing that, while skimming, I had a sense of having stumbled into a stranger’s diary.
Haig’s latest, “The Midnight Train,” hews closely to the formula that made “The Midnight Library” a phenomenon. It, too, follows an ordinary person into a strange purgatory where he has a chance to take stock of his life before it’s officially over.
Here we meet Wilbur Budd, an 81-year-old mega successful bookseller — think Len Riggio, creator of the modern Barnes & Noble — who finds himself (you guessed it) on a train, making stops in different chapters of his past. There he is, meeting his future wife, Maggie, while clutching a copy of “The Old Man and the Sea.” There he is, careening down a busy street with his brother, the police in hot pursuit as he heads toward a tragedy that will reshape his life. And there he is in a grand house in London, disconnected from everything he once held dear.
How did Wilbur end up in this lonely place? Patience, my friend. All will become clear.
If this sounds like broad strokes, that’s because it is. “The Midnight Train” is a parable posing as a novel, complete with lines like “It feels brave just to live sometimes” and “What would you do right now if you had no fear?” There are echoes of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” “The Polar Express,” “Regarding Henry,” the text inside Magic 8 Balls and even “Footprints in the Sand,” the inspirational poem so beloved by decorators of church basements. (“When you saw only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.” Oy.)
Despite occasional schmaltz, Haig makes a worthy contribution to the genre that could be shelved under “alternate-life curious.” (See “Groundhog Day” and “Sliding Doors,” among others, as a Times review of “The Midnight Library” noted.) You need to be in the mood for this one. You’ll want to leave your skepticism and cynicism on the platform. If you hated “The Alchemist,” by Paulo Coelho, you’re on the wrong train.
Our conductor is Agnes Bagdale, the original proprietor of the first bookstore Wilbur owned in Sheffield, England. She, like Haig’s librarian, is wise and kind but firm.
“There are rules,” Agnes says. “You get on and off the train as required. You never try and speak to yourself. And you must never be there when you fall asleep.”
Later she tells Wilbur, “You linger where you are meant to linger.” But he can’t linger too long, no matter how much he’d like to, or he’ll risk entry to eternity (“an existence outside time or pressure or concern”).
Here’s the thing about Wilbur: He has many regrets. He spurned his mother; disappointed his best friend; neglected his wife to the point where they became strangers. He worked too hard. So it’s tempting, as he steams through station after station, to move one piece of the puzzle so the rest of the picture will take shape differently.
But of course, life doesn’t work that way, and neither does the Midnight Train. And Wilbur really, really wants to reunite with Maggie, now his ex. I won’t spoil the ending, but I will say — with apologies to Ralph Waldo Emerson, Miley Cyrus and everyone else who has riffed on this concept — the journey is the most important part.
What saves “The Midnight Train” from becoming a hokey morality tale is Haig’s playfulness. He knows exactly what he’s up to and appears to have fun doing it. He doesn’t just nod to “It’s a Wonderful Life,” he names a bit character Jimmy Gower, in homage to Mr. Gower, the film’s grieving pharmacist who nearly poisons a customer before George Bailey intervenes. Toward the end of the book, we even see a familiar face from “The Midnight Library,” one who arrives at exactly the right moment and with the perfect message.
Is this a literary masterpiece to be shelved alongside the great thinkers Haig occasionally mentions? (Of course Kierkegaard shows up with his quote about living forward and understanding backward.) No, it is not. And that’s just fine.
Just as Wilbur wants to get to Maggie — the newlywed version of her, before the wealth and disappointment — many of us just want to get whisked away by a good yarn. This one does the trick. Some will accuse Haig of cashing in on a proven concept. To quote Mel Robbins: Let them. If you enjoy the “Midnight” experience, climb aboard. If not, books are like trains: There’s another one every hour.
THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN | By Matt Haig | Viking | 296 pp. | $30
Elisabeth Egan is a writer and editor at the Times Book Review. She has worked in the world of publishing for 30 years.
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