Monday, August 26, 2024

Super Sad True Love Story by Gary Shteyngart

I remember picking this up on a whim in a bookstore in Jackson, Wyoming. I think it was Jackson, Wyoming, at least. I’m so far behind on writing up these little treatises on the books I read, that I’m surprised I am able to remember that -- because I don’t remember much else about the book.

Here’s the only passage I dogeared and marked, occurring late in the story (on page 311 of 334).

I dumped the books into the cardboard boxes, Eunice quickly moving over to repack them, because I was not placing them in an optimal way, because I was useless at manipulating objects and making the most out of the least. We worked in silence for the better part of three hours, Eunice directing me and scolding me when I made a mistake, as the Wall of Books began to empty and the boxes began to groan with thirty years’ worth of reading material, the entirety of my life as a thinking person.

Eunice. Her strong little arms, the claret of labor in her cheeks. I was so thankful to her that I wanted to cause her just a tiny bit of harm and then to beg for forgiveness. I wanted to be wrong in front of her, because she too should feel the high morality of being right. All the anger that had built against her during the past months was dissipating. Instead, with each armful of books tumbling into their cardboard graves, I found myself focusing on a new target. I felt the weakness of these books, their immateriality, how they had failed to change the world, and I didn’t want to sully myself with their weakness anymore. I wanted to invest my energies in something more fruitful and conducive to a life that mattered.

I’m always hypersensitive when authors write about books in their stories, knowing that most are unable to keep their own love affairs with books off the page. I remember a time in my life when I felt the same way as our narrator here -- a lifetime of books piled up in front of him, with an inability to see or understand what impact, if any, they have had on his inner or outer world.

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This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.

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