Book Review

In my mind I carry a list. It contains all the books I am "supposed" to read. Their titles come from lots of places. Mostly friends recommendations, yearly lists of the "100 Greatest Novels of All Time", and most regrettably, I get a lot of ideas from those goobers who frequent "Listmania" on Amazon.com. I read quite a bit but the list never seems to get smaller. A small portion is made up of books I just don't want to read but feel, somehow, that I really should. I dread them. These are the books you think you might just save to read in case you ever have to serve a lengthy prison sentence.

So,bearing all this in mind, I embarked upon The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. This book has been on my list for a long time. I was an English major in college and I was particularly obsessed with southern literature which sounds like a genre dedicated to stories about pick-up trucks and old dogs but actually encompasses some of the finest literary voices of the 20th century. Think O'Conner, Welty, Faulkner, Conroy.

I just had a bad attitude about this book. I'm not sure why except...well...look at this picture.

She doesn't strike you as a real fun gal, does she? Nevertheless, I began. I was unimpressed. I kept thinking "Could one of the most lauded novels ever really center on two deaf mutes in a friggin Mill town?"

And then it happened. As only the best writing can, it overwhelmed me. I began to wonder why the characters acted a certain way or why McCullers chose to maneuver them in such a manner. She doesn't write any backstory for her characters. They just begin. Lots of writers do this but very few create characters that make you want to know their genesis. I found myself wondering what motivated this odd cast that she had assembled. She never tells the reader. There is no closure. And therein lies the greatness.

Reading this book, for me, was like exercising a muscle that you had not used for years. Certainly, I have never stopped reading, but I think that since the girls were born, I had abandoned the idea of analyzing the books I read. It wasn't a conscious decision. It just wasn't a priority between colic, diapers and happy meals. I think, for a while, I lost me. Reading this book helped me remember who I am.