Victim of Narrative
Our first book and supper club selection was
Too Much Happiness
by Alice Munro. I chose the book because I am a great admirer of Alice Munro and because I love short stories. She never lets me down. Mordant, ordinary, strange, funny, offhandedly sublime. The two nights of book club discussion were so much better than I'd feared (as an introvert). The people who came were tremendous and they had loads to say so I didn't have to carry the conversation at all. Elation! And I must say that the dinner by Kenwood Cafe was utterly delicious and left me warm and happy. But was there too much happiness? Well, the title is found in the last story of the book -- possibly the last words of a female mathematics genius. Too much happiness, indeed.Yet my distress over my addiction continues, and I seek some affirmation that will free me from the endless Aubrey/Maturin series of sea novels about The British Navy, a series well known as the tar baby of narrative (too much boredom? Alas, no, vertiginous sea battles! Utterly compelling characters, both male and female) I've known relationships to founder on these rocks. Marriages to beat against the lee shore of these novels and succumb. Once you've started, with Master and Commander (forget the movie), you'll be keel hauled right in and there goes your winter. You'll be a victim of narrative.
Coming up in May: the publication of Mohamed's Ghosts, by the young old-school prize-winning journalist Stephan Salisbury. His book is about all of us -- victims of narrative following 9/11. He cared to think about what was happening to the ordinary people who belong to a mosque, struggle to be American and to follow their beliefs as well. This is a wrenching and outrageous story of our own shadow country conjured out of fear.
If I can unstick myself from Patrick O'Brian I will let you know how I did it. I'm going to check out a 12 step sea novel program . . .
