In midlife, and in something of a crisis, Joe Burke decides to be a writer, enrolls in a writing program, and gets to work on what the reader expects might become his first novel.

“Joe Burke’s Last Stand” (Xlibris, 2000) is, in fact, the first novel of Portland poet John Moncure Wetterau. It tells the story of a group of people brought together in Woodstock, N. Y., in the ’60s and then separated by school, work and marriage; their connection lasts, however, and they orbit about one another for the next thirty-odd years. Moving between Maine, Hawaii and Seattle, the characters marry, divorce, get jobs, quit jobs, have children, and have affairs.

In this determinedly anti-establishment book, the characters resist convention. Joe Burke and his friends refuse to fall into the pattern of college degree followed by corporate employment; they’re artists and writers, musicians and carpenters.

“In the past,” Joe thinks after he’s moved back to Hawaii, “he would drift around trying to write things, run out of money, and then abandon the writing in a rush to join a work group, pay bills, and pretend he was like the others in the group. … He had to find another way.” They’re fond of quoting Bob Dylan’s line about the difference between hospitals and universities: “More people die in universities.”

The novel itself doesn’t follow convention either: little complication and conflict, no breathless suspense culminating in a page-turning climax and resolution. Its pleasures are the quiet ones of getting acquainted with interesting and unusual characters, of appreciating a wry phrase, a mature humor.

“You could define adult life as the struggle not to drink too much,” Joe tells a friend; the characters, like the book, lack the ambition to be bigger and better than they need to be.

The problem with a book that isn’t easily labeled (and therefore marketed), though, is that it isn’t easily published, as Wetterau knows. “A novel which is not suited to mass marketing or to a captive university audience has very little chance of being accepted,” he says.

“I decided that taditional publishing was the wrong venue for a first novel that was not sensational and didn’t fit any of the widely accepted categories.” Until recently, that would have prevented “Joe Burke’s Last Stand” from being read in anything other than manuscript form, unless Wetterau had wanted to go to the considerable expense of self-publishing.

But not anymore.

Now there’s Xlibris, a nontraditional publisher who does all the work of getting a book out and charges the writer only $600. That fee covers taking the

manuscript through copyright, Library of Congress numbers, ISBNs, a listing in Books in Print, cover design and sales accounting. The publisher ties up no rights, a great advantage for the writer.

The book business is no longer what it used to be. Whereas formerly a few large publishers rigidly controlled the flow of information, now virtually any writer can see his book in print – or can allow readers to download it. Much like the Internet, the result is both more democratic and more prone to abuse: It no longer takes talent, brains, judgment or wit to reach an audience.

Fortunately for us, though, Wetterau has those qualities. He was able to submit the manuscript in electronic format to Xlibris. Although he accepted a standardized cover, he could have submitted his own cover design at no extra charge, as long as it too had been in electronic format. Four months later, Wetterau had his book. During that time, he was given the chance to proofread and to make up to 40 changes; more changes than that, or copy editing, would have cost extra. A representative saw him through the whole process.

Now readers can order “Joe Burke’s Last Stand” through the Web sites at Xlibris, at Amazon, at Borders, or at Barnes & Noble; bookstores can order the book at a 40 percent discount, although they’re not returnable.

Xlibris, which is associated with Random House, turns a profit because they carry no inventory, printing only when books are ordered. Even so, readers who order online receive the book in a week or less. And Wetterau’s cut? 50 percent of the gross profit on each sale.

Wetterau says he’s really happy with the arrangement, although he notes the absence of editorial and marketing help. And, yes, the novel could’ve profited from editorial advice: The dialogue is sometimes flat and stilted – too few contractions, too many characters saying “Ha ha” to indicate laughter; the plot is a little too aimless (ironically, Joe Burkes’ writing workshop story is praised by the teacher for “the occasional good sentence and criticised for its lack of structure”); and there are a few too many typographical errors for my taste.

But as for the marketing help: Hey, man, up the system. Like, go buy yourself a copy of “Joe Burke’s Last Stand.”