Monday, December 16, 2013

Truman Capote

Just before the evening fog descended, you headed for the large iron gate to pick up your books. Already you could see some people tightly wrapped in their beige mufflers as others walked briskly by, hands firmly rooted in pockets. Your mind is all clogged up and your nose barely functioning. Bunged up, well and true! 

For a relatively small amount you pick up: Greenblatt's The Swerve; a thin book by John Berger, a nice hardbound copy of Carol Shields's Larry's Party and a lovely produced copy of R. Hass's essays, What Light Can Do.

You decide to write a short story, one line by little r, followed by your own one-liner. I would, obviously, write the whole thing down. One day kid, I said to her, we'll outshine Truman Capote. 

'Little r said "eh, eh, e," trying desperately to talk to her little baby brother. 

Then I said, "You know what, you're a great communicator; you're always trying to connect."

She then said: "Give me an example?"

I can't think of one.

Suddenly little r said: "if a horse says "neigh" then I will say "neigh".

Yes! That's right.

It always surprises you just how good Carol Shields is. The only other book you've read stumbled a bit since the plot wasn't that tight, but no matter, there's a kind of rare wisdom to parts of the writing. Small scale and low-key for sure, and there is quite a lot of rambling (first 100 pages of LP) but there's a kind of intelligence that isn't showy or particularly dazzling. 

~~~

the strength of the old soul: image-making, name-giving. the work of the century finding its way into his life: his gestures, his failings, his partial-sightedness.




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