Confession
Over Thanksgiving, my very smart and almost-professor brother-in-law (the only 27-year-old I know who smokes a pipe) and I talked a bit about books. Partially because he drew my name and gave me about 17 books, and partially because we both love them so.
And so we both agreed that there are moments when you are reading something, and you think that you almost can't believe the phrases before you exist because the words are so perfectly arranged. Moments that you almost jump out of your skin because you honestly can't fathom how someone wrote something so right. So exact. So perfect. And at the same time you can't believe that it hasn't been done before. Because it seems so obviously effortless.
That's what happened to me about four times as I was reading Atonement in 2001. Almost seven years ago, and I continue to remember the moments' specifics. I was in Dallas. In the lobby of an old house turned salon. Waiting. It was raining outside. I just had spilled coffee all over myself. And I read the most fantastic arrangement of letters that I had come across in years. Beautiful.
Right about that time, I got so excited about the writing, I started laughing out loud and could no longer concentrate on the story. I lost the meaning in the words. And it was fantastic.
Over the years, I never read the story again but recommended the book a hundred times. Because it held up as a standard of smart writing. So when the movie came out, I was a bit reticent to expose myself to someone else's visual interpretation of the words. Because, of course, that's tricky. And risky.
But last night we went. And what I found was the story that the words were too good to show. The deep-thinking sociology behind the presentation. The heat in England in the summer of 1935. The most fantastic one-shot interpretation of the Dunkirk evacuation and the many distinct reactions it created. The unexpected tragedy at the Balham tube station. Of course, the disturbing story was still there in full force. But this time, I understood a different part of it. Not the words that created it, but the setting that did. The time. The place. The prejudices. A period when passions were damned and brutalities were customary. A place where this juxtaposition didn't seem to occur to anyone.
It didn't occur to me when I read its extraordinary recount, perfectly presented. But I saw it. In high definition.
The absurdity of the wars we create.
And so we both agreed that there are moments when you are reading something, and you think that you almost can't believe the phrases before you exist because the words are so perfectly arranged. Moments that you almost jump out of your skin because you honestly can't fathom how someone wrote something so right. So exact. So perfect. And at the same time you can't believe that it hasn't been done before. Because it seems so obviously effortless.
That's what happened to me about four times as I was reading Atonement in 2001. Almost seven years ago, and I continue to remember the moments' specifics. I was in Dallas. In the lobby of an old house turned salon. Waiting. It was raining outside. I just had spilled coffee all over myself. And I read the most fantastic arrangement of letters that I had come across in years. Beautiful.
Right about that time, I got so excited about the writing, I started laughing out loud and could no longer concentrate on the story. I lost the meaning in the words. And it was fantastic.
Over the years, I never read the story again but recommended the book a hundred times. Because it held up as a standard of smart writing. So when the movie came out, I was a bit reticent to expose myself to someone else's visual interpretation of the words. Because, of course, that's tricky. And risky.
But last night we went. And what I found was the story that the words were too good to show. The deep-thinking sociology behind the presentation. The heat in England in the summer of 1935. The most fantastic one-shot interpretation of the Dunkirk evacuation and the many distinct reactions it created. The unexpected tragedy at the Balham tube station. Of course, the disturbing story was still there in full force. But this time, I understood a different part of it. Not the words that created it, but the setting that did. The time. The place. The prejudices. A period when passions were damned and brutalities were customary. A place where this juxtaposition didn't seem to occur to anyone.
It didn't occur to me when I read its extraordinary recount, perfectly presented. But I saw it. In high definition.
The absurdity of the wars we create.
posted by Girl con Queso at 9:14 PM
9 Comments:
Okay, so you have given me another book that I want to now add to my list of about 50 books laying by my bed, waiting to be read. :) I am sure you have probably read The Lovely Bones but if you havent or know someone who hasnt, it is amazing.
K - I just bought it off of Amazon!
JcQ! Please give my best to him and Miss Fish!
I might reread it before the movie, but it doesn't matter because I am seeing that movie!
I am a little concerned how well I followed that post.
OK, I had to leave a comment because I know exactly what you mean about reading a book where the author just puts it together perfectly to say what he/she means. I loved Atonement and have given that book as a gift several times. I also have felt that way about some of Joyce Carol Oates' books.
Donna
This may be honestly, the most compelling recommendation I've ever read. I just added the book to my list. Thanks.
If only they hadn't cast that annoying actress ... she bugs.
Maybe I'll just read the book.
I agree, KCG. I kept getting a bit distracted thinking about the sandwich that she should eat.
I had the same experience with The English Patient; the book made me weep, on an airplane even, and then the film -- which was SO different from the novel -- brought it all back.
This is a beautiful post.
Oh my God.
I swear to God that I thought that book was written by the hot guy from Moulin Rouge and when you started talking about it at your house I was all "Wow. He can act, sing AND write?! What can't that guy do?"
Thank God for once I kept my mouth shut.
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