American Masculinity Adrift

This Kind of Man, a suite of dramatic monologues and meditations, seems to pick up where Raymond Carver left off: anatomizing all the ways that American masculinity finds itself adrift, with a special thought for the women in the same lifeboat. Murphy sees how we live so plainly and clearly that, in the best possible way, it hurts. — Lou Bayard, author of The Pale Blue Eye

i.

My collection This Kind of Man (5/7/24, Unsolicited Press) interrogates the pressures and tensions of contemporary life, and the ways men grapple with them, often without success. Issues such as marriage, fatherhood, aggression, alcoholism, gender expectations, generational backlash, and the inexorable dread of death, abound. Many of these stories live within a slow implosion of coping, and often failing, as well as those who refuse to succumb, addressing concerns oft-discussed, or not discussed enough, in mainstream print: gun violence, the recent history of coal country Appalachia, sports-related concussions, illegal immigration (and the jobs many of these ostensibly unwelcome folks are obliged to do), homelessness, and the inability of men to honestly connect or communicate.

Far from excusing or exonerating toxic males, this collection locates their violence (toward others, against themselves) in the context of a deadening culture and the false narratives that prevail in an exploitative, zero-sum game capitalist model, where those without are encouraged to quarrel with similarly overworked and underpaid, mostly blue-collar workers. We see that our received notions of manhood and masculinity are inculcated-from the beginning and by design-to ensure willing participation in a system where the overwhelming majority are excluded from the start. We witness the way these dysfunctions are handed down like inheritance, and how every cliché, from fighting to drinking to intolerance of dissent and distrust of others, is a carefully constructed trap, preventing solidarity, empathy, and love (for others, for one’s self).

ii.

Like anyone in America, I’ve read more than my fair share of increasingly urgent if equally unsatisfactory features about why everyone is so angry. A decade ago, many of these discussions would occur in classrooms and pubs, or at the proverbial workplace water cooler, but today, the internet allows the aggrieved to opine at top volume, social media keeping score in a game no one can win.

Somehow, despite these digital bullhorns, many people still claim to feel unheard, unacknowledged, or lost in the mass of info and entertainment overload. Too often, what passes for political discourse involves another lazy interview with some dude in a diner in the Midwest or else sneering Op-Eds from the same well-paid columnists. The media is neither able nor especially interested in telling these stories with any complexity or desire to expose the real rot: a system entirely stacked against all but the wealthiest and most connected members of our society.

So: no one seems satisfied, but why is it invariably men who make the most noise? There are too many reasons to count, but in 2024, it seems safe, if overdue, to suggest that traditional masculinity is a dying brand. This is at once inevitable and in almost all regards, a welcome development, but we need to better explore (and explain) who is feeling left behind, why (and how) they will make themselves heard if not with words (hint: actions, which tend to speak loudly and leave collateral damage in their wake).

iii.

Seeing people one day snap and commit appalling acts of violence leads to fingers pointed (particularly by the media and those in the political arena) everywhere but at the root causes: a system that sets many up to fail, a mental health crisis that is woefully — and actively — underfunded, and our Made in America access to guns that’s at once appalling and embarrassing. If our country has become a sociopolitical powder keg, there are many parties indirectly (and in some cases, directly) lighting matches.

There are countless reasons and/or symptoms, and they are situated more in myth than reality. For instance, while America does not have the rigid and stratified class systems that still plague Europe, we do have a collective addiction to the white-washed fantasy also known as the American Dream. The proposition that any of us, regardless of who we are and whatever our initial station in life can, with the correct combination of industry, initiative, and luck, ascend to a status of wealth festers as one of the more powerful if poisonous fictions our country has produced. More, it is not merely promulgated but actively inculcated: history books and sentimental movies tend to tout the exceedingly rare rags-to-riches allegory while ignoring, denying, or conveniently dismissing the typical reality, which is that the working poor are likely to remain exactly where they are. In fact, as we’ve seen in the last few decades, this is more — not less — the case in a political and cultural system that has steadily ensured that those who have more will get more, usually directly at the expense of those who have little. And if the aforementioned media and political parties can keep people more focused on fighting than organizing, all the better — and thus our dysfunctions perpetuate themselves.

To prevent tragedies we need to understand them, or least make a genuine attempt to do so. Throughout human history, influential and wealthy forces have either ignored or exacerbated systemic crises to consolidate more power and money. Art is forever interested in the human stories that put faces on statistics and attempt to shake us out of our torpor; art forces us to look in the mirror and experience the shock of recognition. Until we see the problem clearly and realize it’s us, why should we expect anything to change?

For those of us who powered through complicated relationships with our fathers. For those of us who still struggle with what being a man means and what it doesn’t mean. Sean Murphy offers a beautiful, honest and heart-rending portrait of what it means and could mean. But, most importantly, casts the brightest light on what it means to be human. — Brian Broome, author of Punch Me Up to the Gods

My book is available anywhere you choose to buy your books; you can find it easily online, here. Check out my Q&A with Unsolicited Books, here.