“A novel is the only place where two strangers can meet on terms of absolute intimacy. The reader and the writer make the book together. No other art can capture the essential inwardness of human life.” – Paul Auster
Opening Remarks
I just finished a sensational book which I’ll be reviewing this week on my Instagram account. Probably one of my top 5 reads of this year. It’s a short book, which got me thinking about the length of books. People often feel discouraged from reading long books and I have trouble understanding that. What they may be trying to say is that they’re scared they won’t enjoy the book, and there’ll be so much more of it not to enjoy.
Mark Twain wrote “I apologize for the length of this letter. If I’d had more time it would have been shorter.” It’s actually recycled from Blaise Pascal who expressed it in a much more tortuous way (ironic!), but whatever its origin, the sentiment is that long books may have lacked that additional effort & time to keep things down to the essentials and cut the flab. But isn’t the flab what makes “Infinite Jest” or “The Brothers Karamazov” so delicious? Maybe the book I just finished could have done with an extra pound or two of embellished fat. Or maybe that would have denatured it completely, and it’s perfect as is. I guess only the author knows the answer to the question: how long is this piece of string?
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