They say: never judge a book by its cover. I say: never judge a book by its title, or you’ll miss a beautiful gem.

I knew absolutely nothing at all about this book before now. I’d always seen it about on the shelves in bookshops but never bothered to check it out. I bypassed it as a book about drug culture, and I already had Brett Easton Ellis and Hunter. S. Thompson for that. But I was wrong. Dead wrong!

Firstly, it is not a book about drugs.

Secondly, this is quite possibly the most dazzling work of fiction I have ever read in my life!

Thirdly, you must definitely, definitely read it while your heart still pumps blood around your body. It’ll be too late if you’re dead, apparently.

Describing the book may possibly make this wonder of words sound wholly unremarkable, passive and pedestrian (boring?). And in a way, that’s what makes the whole thing a life-altering joy. It’s the story of a very human life without frills or glamour. A story of awkwardly dealing with the major and minor struggles, and sieving out the wonder in life. A story of you and me.

William Stoner grows up on a farm with his parents. He leaves for university in 1910, aged 19. He studies agricultural science until he discovers the beauty of literature via an eccentric and cranky lecturer. He changes his courses; he doesn’t tell his parents. He finds his pulse and heart in academia, a protective bubble from his past and the pressures of the real and terrible world that wants to swallow him with the rest of us.

He earns a PHD and begins to  teach at the University. He falls for the wrong woman. They marry and have a daughter. He has a life, not as he’d like but it exists. He exists. He lives his life the best way he can, then eventually, as we all do, he dies (not a spoiler, don’t worry. We all die).

He teaches through both world wars. His students go to be slaughtered on the front lines, only to be replenished with new blood. His friend dies. His other friend lives. His marriage is as frail as ashes, his wife a stranger in his own home. His bright, wonderful daughter sours like milk in the sun, mirroring the rotten mess of her mother. Stoner writes a book that probably nobody will ever read.

But he does the right thing by everyone and everything. He carries on, and he lives until life tells him he can’t.

Beauty, unbelievable heartbreak, regret and glimmers of joy walk hand in hand through every page. The reader is guided by kindness and hope through the whole thing. The novel is a silent scream that we see but never hear.

I’ve told you a lot here but I’ve told you nothing. I’ve spoiled nothing. The  genius of John Williams’ writing will tell you everything I’ve missed. I don’t possess the mental or academic tools to give it justice.

If this is a review, it’s a ridiculous and muddled mess – a bit like life. I know. I don’t care. It’s all I have while I still process what I’ve read. I may never finish processing. It doesn’t matter.

I just wanted to tell you. I’ve told you. It’s your turn.