Jamie Langston Turner

A Most Unique Man

July 14, 2025

 

This is another cringe-worthy title since we all know that "unique" is one of those absolute or non-comparative adjectives, the most common of which are perfect, dead, pregnant, true, and my title adjective, unique. Everybody knows that an absolute adjective stands alone without a modifier. Someone can't be more dead than someone else, and a speech can't be the most perfect ever delivered. So this newsletter is already on shaky ground, but let's move on.

 

Every man is unique in his own way, not only in physical appearance, obviously, but also in all the hidden inner parts most men don't talk about freely. Likewise, every woman is unique, and we also hide many personal thoughts and feelings, though we sometimes share these private things with a few others. It's hard for me to imagine a man, however, who would say openly, "I can't get over feeling guilty about such-and-such" or "I'm worried about whether my boss likes me" or "I'm so upset that I can't lose weight" or "Whenever I look in the mirror, I see new wrinkles" or "I hate this new haircut."

 

I'm generalizing, of course, and many of you may already have objections supported by specific proof about a man you know who doesn't fit this profile. But I think we would all agree with this general statement: There are basic differences between how men and women tend to think and behave.

 

Since I started writing my first novel over thirty years ago, I've received spoken comments, notes, letters, and email messages from a good number of men. Some were pointing out an inaccuracy they had noted in a certain book (such as when I attributed a piece of music to Shostakovich instead of Stravinsky) or gently complaining about the slow pace of the plot or suggesting an idea for my next book or asking me to sign a book for a wife's or mother's birthday. A few even said they had sneaked a peek into the book on their wife's bedside table and liked a certain part. Fewer still have told me they have actually read at least one of my books all the way through. (One of these told me, however, that because of the feminine-looking cover, he would be embarrassed to carry the book around and read it in a public place, like an airport or restaurant. Understandable.) And four or five men have even said they've read more than one of my books and have told me which one they liked best and why. (I'll keep your names confidential.)

 

Recently, I received an email from this select group of men—the husband of a woman who had contacted me earlier. She had told me that her husband had read and liked a couple of my books, and I had replied, partly in jest, that I always assumed certain things about any man who had the patience to read the kind of novel I write. Such a man must be highly intelligent, I said, also artistic, sensitive, observant, highly verbal, and interested in people.

 

Well, she passed that comment on to her husband, and lo and behold, a month or so later I received an email from him. I asked him if I could quote his email for a long-overdue newsletter to post on my website, and he kindly said yes. I told him I hope his comments don't make other women jealous that their husbands aren't as perceptive, intelligent, patient, highly verbal, and so forth, as he is, and we had a chuckle about that. Here are the words of this "Most Unique Man":

 

Dear Mrs. Turner,

 

I am not in the habit of communicating with authors whose books I read--probably because most of them left the land of the living decades ago--however, my wife recently traded emails with you when she purchased your latest book, and I had some thoughts in which you might be interested.

 

Yes, I am the man who has read books which you have written; three, to be exact: Winter Birds, Some Wildflower in my Heart, and now Every Ocean Has a Shore. I marvel at your ability to make the mundane interesting, and I hope you will take that as the compliment I intend. While I do enjoy books with sword fights and explosions, I also appreciate an author's understanding of people. I believe you told my wife that if I liked your books I must be interested in people. I think a more precise way to put it would be that I am fascinated by humanity. Your characters have a sense of reality to them that I rarely see in more male-focused writing.

 

I want to thank you for writing a book that my wife and I can both read and discuss. The books we read rarely overlap, and I do love to talk about books. I also love to talk with my wife, so your book became a bright spot in our early summer. I never thought I would find enjoyment in reading about someone perusing National Geographic while eating lunch, although I enjoy those two things as much as Gary did [in Every Ocean Has a Shore].

 

I have noticed some elements of Southern Gothic in your writing. Not stolen-prosthetic-leg levels [a reference to Flannery O'Connor's story "Good Country People], but an inclusion of strange and morbid happenings, usually in the South. As an inhabitant of the South for most of my life . . . I have decided that "Southern Gothic" is just how non-Southerners refer to stories about what it's actually like living in the South. For example, as a college student working at a daycamp, I met a student who told me about his late father, who took him on a vacation to their lake house. Every morning the young boy would sit on the deck of the house and watch his dad swim to an island in the middle of the lake and back. One morning, halfway back, his dad stopped swimming, disappeared under the water, and never resurfaced. He had apparently had a heart attack and drowned, while his son (who had to have been less than five at the time) watched. In your books, the story of Jewel's husband's death reminded me of this true story. Yes, these kind of things happen, and for some reason, Southerners are interested in them. When we visit my in-laws, they often ask my wife "Do you remember so-and-so?" This usually indicates the person in question died in some unusual way.

 

I had not originally intended to compose an essay, but these are some of the thoughts I had while reading your latest book and hearing about your correspondence with my wife. Thank you for writing, and thank you for reading my missive.

 

There you have it—a man who hasn't necessarily broken the mold I described earlier but has at least cracked it a little. I'll keep his name and contact information confidential, but let's just call him John. John even wrote me another substantive email after I replied to him.

 

So thank you, John, for taking the time to write all these words, which is something else a lot of men aren't fond of doing. And for any women reading this, we can all be happy for "Mary" that she has a husband like John, who likes to read the books she reads.

 

If you have a husband who's not like John (I do, too), we still appreciate and love them dearly and recognize all their sterling qualities, right? In case my husband ever reads this, let me brag on him for always loading and unloading the dishwasher, taking good care of the house and yard, fixing me coffee every morning, buying and programming a robot vacuum, bringing interesting things back from the grocery store, loving his family wholeheartedly, being a brilliant band conductor with a finely tuned ear, and that's only the beginning. (I'm confident he won't ever see this newsletter, however, since like many other men, he avoids reading a lot of words as well as writing them. He often tells me my texts and emails are too lengthy. His are a model of conciseness, though sometimes with critical words omitted.)

 

Let me close by sharing a favorite anecdote about him (true). He and a good friend spent an entire afternoon fishing many years ago, and I enjoyed imagining the two of them in a boat together for hours. When he came home, I asked him, "So do the two of you talk as you fish, or do you just fish?" He said, "Oh, sure, we talk!" And I eagerly asked for an example of a conversation they'd had that day. He had to think a few seconds before offering this: "Well, I said, 'Let's move over by that log and see if they're biting better,' and he said, 'Okay.' So that's what we did."