Have you ever started to read a book, and found the writing so beautiful and sublime, that you didn't even care about the story, you'd keep reading just for the prose?
Sebastian Barry's "Days without End" — I carried it around with me for several days after I'd finished it because I couldn't let go. Thank you for the recommendation, have pre-ordered it. Sounds very much like my sort of thing.
Staying local, I would say City of lies by our own Sam Hawke. Not my genre, but it pulled me in, interesting world, characters, plot, and wonderful writing. I can't say enough good about it.
When I lost my brother I read this passage from my favorite novel, The Grapes of Wrath, at his service.
Tom Joad asks the preacher to say a few words over the body of grandpa, buried on the side of the road as the family tries to get to California:
"This here ol' man jus' lived a life an' jus' died out of it. I don' know whether he was good or bad, but that don't matter much. He was alive, an' that what matters. An' now he's dead, an' that don't matter.
Heard a fella tell a poem one time, an' he says 'All that lives is holy.' Got to thinkin' an' purty soon it means more than the words says. An' I wouldn' pray for a ol' fella that's dead. He's alright. He got a job to do, but it's all laid out for 'im an' there's only one way to do it.
But us, we got a job to do, an' they's a thousan' way, an' we don't know which one to take. An' if I was to pray, it'd be for the folks that don't know which way to turn. Grandpa here, he got the easy straight. An' now cover 'im up and let 'im get to his work."
Alice Hoffman's Turtle Moon, which I read some time after having lived in So FL for four years. It was magical and unlike anything I'd ever read before. Oddly, I've never read anything else of hers and I'm not sure why.
And a very different book, mesmerizing for very different reasons: Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson. The ending gutted me in a way no book ever had, or has since. I spoke to my mother by phone shortly after reading it and before I could recommend it to her, she was telling me about this extraordinary book she'd just read, translated from Norwegian. I suspect it might not have the same effect on readers who don't share that ancestry, who didn't grow up listening to stoic Norwegian men tell stories.
I wrote a review of it on my blog that said, in part:
"It is unlike anything I have ever read. The writing is beautiful and spare. The first person narrative is all over the place but the words flow so smoothly you don’t care. You know there won’t be a happy ending but you don’t care about that either. The writing is pure and wonderful and you just want more so you keep turning pages. The ending comes abruptly like a slap to the heart and you draw a great shaky breath and hold it while you decide whether to cry and somewhere deep inside you know– you will never forget those words. If any of my Norwegian uncles had given a similar small glimpse of emotional vulnerability in the stories they told, they might have sounded like this book. But they didn’t, so I’m not sure about that."
I still have a thing for Impulse by Frederick Ramsay. It isn't really what I read, these days, but it is so well put together.
Hope all of y'all had a good weekend. Something happened down here and the wind did change. Came up from the Gulf and it began to rain. When it wasn't raining the air was as thick as soup.
Yaaaaaaas Sarah: Peace Like a River by Leif Enger. Breathtaking. But also, one you might not expect because it isn't technically literary, it is genre: Dance for the Dead by Thomas Perry.
I heartily second Teri Lynn Coop on the Grapes of Wrath. It's been awhile since my last reread, but just remembering some of the passages still takes my breath away and gives me pause (the dust, the horses going to auction, the Bank).
Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon struck me so hard that when I finished it for the first time, I turned back to the beginning and read it again immediately.
William Gibson's Neuromancer. Something about that book just crawled into my skin.
22 comments:
Peace Like a River by Leif Enger.
Sebastian Barry's "Days without End" — I carried it around with me for several days after I'd finished it because I couldn't let go.
Thank you for the recommendation, have pre-ordered it. Sounds very much like my sort of thing.
Herman Melville's "Moby Dick"
Gone With the Wind. It was never officially summer until I hit the beach and read that book.
The Hundred Secret Senses by Amy Tan.
Staying local, I would say City of lies by our own Sam Hawke. Not my genre, but it pulled me in, interesting world, characters, plot, and wonderful writing. I can't say enough good about it.
Anything by Kazuo Ishiguro
John Steinbeck writes road poetry.
When I lost my brother I read this passage from my favorite novel, The Grapes of Wrath, at his service.
Tom Joad asks the preacher to say a few words over the body of grandpa, buried on the side of the road as the family tries to get to California:
"This here ol' man jus' lived a life an' jus' died out of it. I don' know whether he was good or bad, but that don't matter much. He was alive, an' that what matters. An' now he's dead, an' that don't matter.
Heard a fella tell a poem one time, an' he says 'All that lives is holy.' Got to thinkin' an' purty soon it means more than the words says. An' I wouldn' pray for a ol' fella that's dead. He's alright. He got a job to do, but it's all laid out for 'im an' there's only one way to do it.
But us, we got a job to do, an' they's a thousan' way, an' we don't know which one to take. An' if I was to pray, it'd be for the folks that don't know which way to turn. Grandpa here, he got the easy straight. An' now cover 'im up and let 'im get to his work."
"How It All Began" by British author Penelope Lively. Skillful, witty writing; I can open it anywhere and immediately become immersed.
Alice Hoffman's Turtle Moon, which I read some time after having lived in So FL for four years. It was magical and unlike anything I'd ever read before. Oddly, I've never read anything else of hers and I'm not sure why.
And a very different book, mesmerizing for very different reasons: Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson. The ending gutted me in a way no book ever had, or has since. I spoke to my mother by phone shortly after reading it and before I could recommend it to her, she was telling me about this extraordinary book she'd just read, translated from Norwegian. I suspect it might not have the same effect on readers who don't share that ancestry, who didn't grow up listening to stoic Norwegian men tell stories.
I wrote a review of it on my blog that said, in part:
"It is unlike anything I have ever read. The writing is beautiful and spare. The first person narrative is all over the place but the words flow so smoothly you don’t care. You know there won’t be a happy ending but you don’t care about that either. The writing is pure and wonderful and you just want more so you keep turning pages. The ending comes abruptly like a slap to the heart and you draw a great shaky breath and hold it while you decide whether to cry and somewhere deep inside you know– you will never forget those words. If any of my Norwegian uncles had given a similar small glimpse of emotional vulnerability in the stories they told, they might have sounded like this book. But they didn’t, so I’m not sure about that."
Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss
"The Bone Witch" by Rin Chupeco was precisely that for me.
I suppose "The Song of Achilles" by Madeline Miller was, too, but the ending was fairly obvious since it was a faithful adaptation to Greek mythology.
I still have a thing for Impulse by Frederick Ramsay. It isn't really what I read, these days, but it is so well put together.
Hope all of y'all had a good weekend. Something happened down here and the wind did change. Came up from the Gulf and it began to rain. When it wasn't raining the air was as thick as soup.
Anthony Doe's All the Light We Cannot See
Yaaaaaaas Sarah: Peace Like a River by Leif Enger. Breathtaking. But also, one you might not expect because it isn't technically literary, it is genre: Dance for the Dead by Thomas Perry.
Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road” is chockablock with good stuff!
I heartily second Teri Lynn Coop on the Grapes of Wrath. It's been awhile since my last reread, but just remembering some of the passages still takes my breath away and gives me pause (the dust, the horses going to auction, the Bank).
Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon struck me so hard that when I finished it for the first time, I turned back to the beginning and read it again immediately.
William Gibson's Neuromancer. Something about that book just crawled into my skin.
Rebecca, by Daphne DuMaurier. Of course Rebecca.
Megan V ....concur with All the light we cannot see... for me seeing that title, it took me back.
The Blood of Flowers by Anita Amirrezvani.
How Green Was My Valley
Identity Man by Andrew Klavan, for the philosophical passages written in a simple working-class voice, including curse words
Hank—hopefully it took you back in a good way.
An American Childhood by Annie Dillard
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