Friday, July 08, 2005

July is a hell of a time to be getting rain from tropical storms and hurricanes. And after Cindy or whatever her name is, I suppose Dennis will be next. I thought not even an essential trip to the library could brighten my mood, but when the librarian said, "That Paul Auster book you've been waiting for came in," my heart soared.

Collected Prose is now in paperback and includes autobiographical writings, his "true stories," some reviews and essays, and other goodies. This afternoon I was hypnotized by his recounting of his childhood and adolescence. Everything he writes grips me and won't let me go. His account of his solitude while trekking all through Europe on his own at age eighteen, his description of the battle between his spendthrift mother and penny-pinching father, his recollection of his time at Columbia--all of it makes me ask: Is he capable of writing a bad sentence? Has he ever had a trite moment in his life? God! I think I'm in love.


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