BLUESMAN By Andre Dubus III, WIlliam Heinemann, £ 9.99 A young boy of 18 grapples with life as it chances his way. As the once-clear rules of love, sex and family blur, he tries to stand on his feet as best as he can. Bluesman can only be described as a straightforward coming-of-age tale of a young man - Leo Suther - exploring the outer reaches of his boyhood. This is a debut novel from the American who has received much acclaim for his second effort, House of Sand and Fog. While his second book, noted for its gripping realism, drew mixed reactions to various characters, Bluesman avoids the controversial, dealing mainly with the everyday - but very real - problems of a young man. Leo is the boy next door with just the right dash of machismo. He, like every other adolescent boy on the eve of an eighteenth birthday, is trying desperately to be a man. The problem is he thinks he has already succeeded. The boy's major anguish has a staple source: A passionate relationship that spirals out of his control. Allie (or Allie Cat, as her father, Chick, appropriately calls the fiercely independent girl) takes him swiftly to a height he couldn't imagine. He is invincible, as is his love. So, when his girl discovers she is pregnant, Leo thinks he can brave the world and bring up a child, like gypsy Indians, if he has to. Leo's unquenchable thirst to adopt the role of a responsible man-of-the-world is somewhat incomprehensible. To prove that he is worthy of Allie's love, he promptly (and very earnestly) makes one hurtful move after another. Allie is furious, and Leo has no idea why. Set in the backdrop of the Vietnam war, idealism in all shapes and sizes assaults Leo. The young man must deal with his father, Jim, and this man's dedication to the memory of his dead mother, Katie Faye, even as he becomes more and more entrenched in a love of his own. Chick and his firebrand communism are perhaps the most overt of the challenges to his worldview, but there are more subtle choices of ideology Leo has to make. However, matters of intellect do not move Leo much after the initial questions lose their urgency, only matters of the heart. And though Leo's heart lies firmly in Allie's hands, his soul belongs to his 'harp', or harmonica. He has grown up listening to his father and Ryder, his friend, jam to the tunes of African-American blues kings. The trio, which later christens itself 'Katie Faye's Band', gives itself up to the music after a hard day's work at the paper mill or construction site. He realizes that he is willing to live by his music - an unfulfilled dream of his parents and Ryder. He wants to live their dream, take the chances they had never been able to. But though music has a constant presence in Bluesman, it has no real melody of its own. Dubus's tone is flat, using the same voice for war, sex, violence and music. Nor does Dubus attempt to bring Heywood, a small town in Massachusetts, to life. Leo's hope, shining through the subdued bleakness of the novel, is endearing, but never rises above the ordinary. His determination to follow the dictates of love and passion, no matter what the risk, is too overdone to be memorable. The narrative fails to incorporate the humour so essential to put Leo's yearning in perspective. But there are flashes which move, such as the pivotal fight between Leo and Allie where they move beyond their confusion into the realm of real anguish. Bluesman does break out of its sameness, primarily in the form of Katie Faye's diary. In the midst of emotional crisis, Leo flips through pages telling of Katie's love for her husband and son, dreams of travelling to Paris to become a poet, reflects on pain and hopes for the future. Leo and Allie; Jim, Ryder and Katie Faye don't bring anything new to the bookshelves, but they are good enough company for a lazy afternoon. Bluesman is a bittersweet reminder of teenage confusions.