The Inhabited World by David Long

(The hardbound edition.)

[Stopped around page 24. Not the author's fault.]

For many years now, my sister Sue, who resides and reads in Walla Walla, Washington, regularly indulges in a mystery book. Not necessarily in the mystery genre, although it could be, but when she visits her local library she makes a point of grabbing a book that has no book jacket. Even better, a book without any inside cover notes, although those are increasingly rare as librarians weed them out. She does this so that the book, for better or worse, will be a complete surprise. Whether she likes it or not will be up to her and her alone.
Alas, Reading is no longer a solitary endeavor.
Consider these two editions of "The Inhabited World".

This is an image of the paperback edition. >>>>>>
Do not read the back of this book.

The back of the hardbound edition has three short reviews by three different authors. These comments center on the quality of Long's writing. I'm assuming they mean lines such as this one found on page 5 of paperback version:

"He's steeped in aftermath, as changed as steam is from water, as water from ice. " Lovely.

Unfortunately, the paperback edition has the ubiquitous promotion plastered on front and back. The front comment by the Los Angeles times is inoffensive but the back comment by the New York Times Book Review is a Spoiler Alert! It certainly spoiled it for me. I don't mind their banal comment that "This is a terrific novel", but I would like to discover the ending on my own. I want to consume a book, I don't need it spoonfed.
So if you want to read this book, get the hardbound or do not read the press on the paperback, but now that I've mentioned it will be hard not to look. Sorry.

All the Names by José Saramago

When was the paragraph invented? I became obsessed with this question recently after trying to read All the Names by José Saramago (translated from Portugese by Margaret Jull Costa), a book of large unbroken columns of text, where rapidly the random arbitrary nature of language resurfaces and the act of reading reverts to its unnatural and alien beginnings.

My first thought--it was Saramago's stylistic decision, a reflection of the setting of miles of unbroken files, the twin towers of life and death records of the "Central Registry" that surrounds the main character Senhor José. My second thought--I shall attempt this feat; this book is worth it; this book won the Nobel Prize for Literature. Even with that shining destination-I failed.

There are a few paragraph breaks of course, but by then I was clinging to each stopping point as a mountain climber grips a tiny ledge on a smooth rock face. Once I glanced ahead in the book and realized the entire text was the same absolute column of text I realized that at some point I would fall off that mountain. I guess I'm just not much of a climber, I mean reader; I didn't even reach base camp.

Sadly, I will never know if Saramago's promise is fulfilled; that piercing sweet uncanny moment when media, those literal towers of words becomes metaphor. With metaphor we no longer need to cling to the mountain. We are given wings, liberated from gravity.


Why did I pick up this book? The cover art, a sepia photograph of a man surrounded by tall dark buildings and floating slightly off the ground. The figure of the man is facing the light at the end of the cavernous street; I never got that far.

Post script: Before returning this book I discovered a book mark left in the book by a former library patron. The bookmark depicts a tower of books and the top book is titled "Keep Reading". The bookmark was left in the book about 3/4s of the way through.