"I would like to meet him and kiss his hand and say something horrifically stupid that I would regret for the rest of my life. I bet his home is filled with the most charming little knick knacks, such as autograph manuscripts of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony and Schubert's "Trout" Quintet, original Picassos, a little wooden whistle carved by Wittgenstein during a long lunch they shared before the war, a photograph of him pinching the Queen of England's cheek, a Wedgewood sugar bowl given to him by Lionel Trilling and which he now uses as a water dish for his terrier, Antoine."
I like it when you feel you can safely trust a writer. When you feel assured what they are laying out for you will not take a reasonless turn. I am trying to finish Jennifer Egan's Look At Me. I thought I could trust it, but am realizing I can't. I am really loving some parts, caught up in all the cruel idiocy, and then suddenly there is the uncle, who appears to be swapped in, via exchange plan, from a Rick Moody short story. He fits in another book where his well researched but totally boring academic preoccupation that is just a device to show us he is smart, obsessive and bonkers IS the plot, or is at least central to his vindication. He is on the other side of ruin, in a book full of people who are ramping up to it, or thought they were through with ruin, but their other ruin was a prelude. So I skip the uncle and his tutorial. I wanted to keep reading it, but the library robot said I can't renew it because someone has a request for it in.Posted by jessica hopper at October 28, 2009 10:50 AM | TrackBack