where the god of love hangs out
So, I mentioned that I was reading Where the God of Love Hangs Out and I mentioned that Amy Bloom is one of my favorite modern fiction writers. What I didn't mention, because I just realized it last night while I was passing my ticket through the BART turnstile, is that Amy Bloom is one of the reasons why I have never pursued writing. (Some of the other reasons, in case you're wondering: I am lazy, I have never prioritized it, and I am often plagued with severe moments of self-doubt.)
Bloom is such a powerful writer -- one review, I think in the NYT, said that she could cram more emotion in a single sentence than other writers manage in an entire novel -- that each time I read any of her prose I think to myself, "if you can't do it like that, you SHOULDN'T DO IT." Sure, if everyone followed this thinking, the publishing industry (of which I am now part) would collapse for lack of things to publish. But for me, personally, Bloom is the top. The aspiration.
Where the God of Love Hangs Out is absolutely as stunning as everything else. It is short stories and micro stories, and even includes snippets of worlds she created in other collections. There is funny, and there is painful, and there is utter perfection. I finished it last night, went to bed, got up and chose another book for my commute, and then could not bring myself to start the other novel once I was settled in the backseat of my casual carpool ride. I didn't want to ruin it, not just yet.
Someone brought me a couple of The Runner's Rule Book at lunch, and I think I'll dive into that during the train ride home instead of the novel I was planning to read. I'm guessing it will be impossible for me to enjoy other fiction for a bit.
Bloom is such a powerful writer -- one review, I think in the NYT, said that she could cram more emotion in a single sentence than other writers manage in an entire novel -- that each time I read any of her prose I think to myself, "if you can't do it like that, you SHOULDN'T DO IT." Sure, if everyone followed this thinking, the publishing industry (of which I am now part) would collapse for lack of things to publish. But for me, personally, Bloom is the top. The aspiration.
Where the God of Love Hangs Out is absolutely as stunning as everything else. It is short stories and micro stories, and even includes snippets of worlds she created in other collections. There is funny, and there is painful, and there is utter perfection. I finished it last night, went to bed, got up and chose another book for my commute, and then could not bring myself to start the other novel once I was settled in the backseat of my casual carpool ride. I didn't want to ruin it, not just yet.
Someone brought me a couple of The Runner's Rule Book at lunch, and I think I'll dive into that during the train ride home instead of the novel I was planning to read. I'm guessing it will be impossible for me to enjoy other fiction for a bit.