In “Janesville,” a bracingly concrete account of the city’s decline, Amy Goldstein, a Pulitzer-winning Washington Post reporter, describes the college’s scramble to accommodate newly laid-off autoworkers. The parking lot was so full that cars were on the lawn. Many of the new students were bewildered. To the professors at Blackhawk, Goldstein writes, “The most surprising fact about these arriving factory workers was how many of them didn’t know how to use a computer—didn’t even know how to turn one on.” When the students learned that handwritten papers wouldn’t be accepted, some of them dropped out. Many seemed to be choosing their future careers more or less at random. ... anesville” is haunting in part because it’s a success story. In the face of vast forces—globalization, automation, political dysfunction, the Great Recession—the people of Janesville do nearly everything right. Reading “Janesville,” one is awed by the dignity and levelheadedness of its protagonists, who seem to represent the best of America. At the same time, the narrative of “Janesville” unfolds within a larger, more fatalistic context. Matt Wopat’s efforts at retraining are inspiring but, from the beginning, doubtful: if it were that easy, there wouldn’t be books like “Janesville.” The steel industry in Gary, Indiana, began its decline forty years ago; how likely is it that, forty years from now, Janesville will have escaped Gary’s fate? Goldstein is a talented storyteller, and we root for her characters as, moment by moment, they try their hardest. In truth, we’re inspired by the same narrative of hope that politicians draw upon when they talk about job training, and which Forward Janesville uses to attract new businesses to town. It’s sobering to think that the autoworkers, too, are caught up in this story.

From time to time, “Janesville” pauses to acknowledge the mostly immovable reality in which its characters are enmeshed.