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August 18, 2008

Comments

Jon Polk

Also in the midst of writing my own review of Indignation, I am also struggling with how to deal with the 'Big Twist.' So far I am working with a sort of half-revelation, acknowledging the voice of the narrator and then moving on.

I've never read Winesburg, Ohio either. I've made a few false starts, but after a few days of refusing myself and then reading your response here, I think I may need to actually break down and get to it.

Michael O'D

Book criticism in popular magazines and newspapers has a fundamental commercial element to it—otherwise reviews would not be published contemporaneously with book release dates. That means people reading a such a book review might well go out and buy the book depending on the reviewer’s appraisal of it. I’ve never agreed with those who think that it somehow cheapens popular book criticism to have such criticism play a role in the book business; I would like to see some of the excellent but less-prominent books I review do well. So I think both of you should refrain from giving anything away unless the twist in this novel (which I haven’t read) is absolutely indispensable to your line of argument or your understanding of the book’s meaning. (Mere plot twists are frequently more superficial than that.) Don’t let some over-serious notion of purity in literary criticism overshadow the plain fact that a spoiler in your review will ruin the book for many readers.

Stewart

I'm still waiting for an opportune time to sit down with Roth's second - and biggest - novel, 'Letting Go'. But, based on what you've said, and knowing only scant details of 'Indignation', 'Columbus, Ohio' may also be worth a read, if you haven't already done so. Thankfully, it's just a nudge beyond a hundred pages.

Stewart

Because I was thinking of Winesburg, Ohio I've went and typed Columbus, Ohio. I meant Goodbye, Columbus, Roth's first work.

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

    Rider_4

    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."