Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Reading on the Road
Reading on the Road
A five-day drive
requires a lot of reading decisions. This was not the first time I have driven
due south through the heartland of the USA.
Freeway driving means passing near many small towns along the way and
stopping overnight at motels. Newspapers of any kind are getting harder and
harder to find in mid America. Few motels provide newspapers any more or have a
newspaper box outside. None of the gas stations carried newspapers. When I asked one motel clerk about newspapers,
she said, “go on line.”
Bookstores are tough to find too. So I had to stock the
vehicle with reading material before I left. What to take? I love audio books and
when travelling in the States they help when MPR fades and only preachers,
church services and vile right wing commentators remain.
I brought along a Michael Connelly police procedural called
Angel’s Flight. The miles flew by. Connelly is a strong writer,
straightforward, and a master plotter. A
Connelly plot twists but always makes sense. In this genre, the crimes are just
backdrop to the story of the cop and his relationships in and out of the force.
LAPD Harry Bosch is typical: a nuisance to his superiors, a failure in love and
an ex-smoker who is forever pulled back to the weed.
For reading in the dim light of the motel bedside lamp, and
in the equally dim but much noisier breakfast room, I chose the following:
Margaret Atwood’s new book of short stories, Stone Mattress.
Great choice! She calls her stories tales and says they are based on fairy
tales but I found this claim a bit ingenuous. Atwood’s fantastic imagination
and her strong prose carry each story effortlessly. I read one or two stores at
night and thought about them the next day as I drove along. You don’t easily
forget an Atwood story. And yes, Zenia, from The Robber Bride, does reappear.
Medicine Walk by Richard Wagamese. A ne’er-do-well drunken
father and his very different son set out on a final trip, the medicine walk,
the journey towards death. I was with
the pair every step of the way. A
powerful book.
Pushkin’s Short Stories. I have read many of them before but
still, a master is a master. In typical Victorian fashion, they start with a
man saying to the unknown reader, in effect, “let me tell you this strange
thing that happened to me.”After a few paragraphs on childhood, we are in,
journeying into a card room where one man always wins, or journeying across the
steppes to a military garrison where love and death await. Pushikin is the
master of the telling detail. Each character is introduced with a few
descriptive phrases and we effortlessly take the newcomer into the tale.
Pushkin often puts a duel into a story; ironically, he himself died in a duel.
Too bad.
When I visited his house in St. Petersburg, I was in tears listening
to his fate on the headphones. The Russian women guides rushed over to comfort
me, patting me on the back and handing me tissues. In true Russian fashion, they did not find my
emotion embarrassing but completely normal. “Too young,” one said, squeezing my
hand. “He left us too young.”
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