GUSHING

I am not one to gush. Although, it is true that an abundant sentimentality that I carry in addition to my proclivity for an earnest tone, I am fully aware, are to be found in my entries here. Perhaps it is simply the case that more often than not I find really good books to read or perhaps I have such an affinity for books in general or perhaps I just overdo it. I can admit that.

No matter. I finished The History of Love from Nicole Krauss last week and was thoroughly blown away. Again. Last year, well before I began writing about my reading life, I read Great House by this writer, and so now her first novel, Man Walks Into a Room, has shot to the top of the reading list. The former I believe to be one of the best books I have ever read and henceforth, I will consider myself an unabashed fanatic of Nicole Krauss.

Though I am hesitant to say this, because there must only be a matter of time before she gets lumped into that certain category that I might call wildly popular. There are already movie options in place and possibly another actually in the works, clear enough qualifications, it seems to me, of the appropriateness of such a classification. Her husband (to remain unnamed for our purposes at this point) is also a writer and falls within the ranks of you-have-most-likely-heard-of-him. I suppose I should clarify or attempt to clarify what I am trying to say here. You see, I am not against wildly popular authors and books nor am I against, as any general rule, movies that have been made from books. Of course, though, in my mind, the book is always better. If you have read anything else here, you have seen that I am pro-literacy first and foremost, so anything that has people reading is a good thing from my perspective. It is just that I tend to lean in another direction when it comes to my reading life, a slightly lower key direction, if you will. I am not sure I have clarified anything here. I do not try or desire to be a reading snob, but I suppose if I were completely honest with myself, I would have to confess the fact that such a label is not entirely unwarranted in my case. On the other hand, I would not say that I read things that are altogether obscure either. I populate my reading list using all manner of resources, including book reviews in the major newspapers. In fact, I tend to find most of what I read in a monthly magazine called BookPage or from authors I have heard interviewed by Bob Edwards, neither of which are unfrequented sources by any means. I will call myself a discerning reader then, and will understand if others may choose a slightly less polite way of putting it. 

I am not sure what it is, but when everyone is reading something, I become skeptical. Remember that old story about how Joseph Kennedy was saved from the ruin of the stock market crash of 1929 because he overheard a shoeshine boy offering stock picks and he took this as a clear signal that it was time to get out? Well, that is the closest I can come to explaining how I decide what I want to read. Like most things, though, there is no black and white on this. For all the so called rules I have for my life, this one is not hard and fast or written in stone. When I tell people that I am a big reader, they inevitbly ask what I am reading or who my favorite authors are or what kind of books I like most. So, when this happens, it is a small point of pride for me to introduce someone to a writer of whom they likely have never heard or who they might not otherwise have discovered. So, there you go, I am simply a reading evangelist, of sorts. How about that?

I have gone way off track here and may revisit this issue in a later post, but at least it has helped to keep the gushing to a minimum.

Yet again, I am impressed by an author's ability to push the boundaries when it comes to the actual physical construction of a narrative. As someone who aspires to write quality fiction, I have learned a lesson from Krauss about how the placement of words on the page and the assembly of a chapter can raise the level of emotion and underscore the sense of drama, thereby driving the story not only with words, but with an entire array of other tools. Sometimes and in certain ways, this kind of thing can come across as gimmicky, but Krauss is a master and thus rises from mere author to the level of craftswoman in my eyes. Her words and her story are in and of themselves outstanding, but the way she has put the book together and the way she tells the story make it all the more superb.

The History of Love is about a book and her most recent work, Great House, is about a desk. Both are seemingly ordinary objects, the likes of which we see around us everyday. Krauss uses these common sorts of items to bring together disparate and otherwise divergent lives and to ask very poignant questions about how we think of ourselves and how we relate to other human beings. In each novel, the object itself is an obvious symbol for a larger and common struggle in the different lives of the characters, but Krauss' brilliance as a writer allows the symbolism to happen in an understated way. Once again, just the kind of books I enjoy most -- so much going on beneath the surface and also providing me an opportunity to see new and different ways in which fiction can work.