not a book rec [The Anxiety of Everyday Objects, by Aurelie Sheehan]
I just finished reading The Anxiety of Everyday Objects by Aurelie Sheehan, and I loved it. It's about a secretary slash film-maker, and it might well be one of my New Inspirational Books, because it's about surviving the next real world. I think the books I loved in my youth were about surviving my first real world, middle/high school, and the next batch must be about surviving the world of work and relationships and money and being an almost-thirtysomething (although at nineteen I've got some years to go.)
But The Anxiety of Everyday Objects is more than that. The language is unique and graceful and constantly surprising. It's not hard to read at all -- since I no longer have free weeks open for reading War and Peace, ease of reading has become a concern. But this language was liquid and the images thoughtful but the book still flowed with a sort of dreamy grace.
The heroine, Winona, is not my favorite character ever, but she has certain charming quirks and a cat named Fruit Bat, whom she loves dearly and who seems very real. The romance sold me utterly -- easy enough to do, unless you're writing a show called Stargate -- but wasn't cloying. The dialogue felt out of synch with the beauty of the rest of the language -- which feels like life.
The point of view was juggled wonderfully -- mostly Winona's, but some surprising and just-right dips into other character's heads that were refreshing and not jarring. It felt at times quaint and old-fashioned, but was very contemporary, and very slyly funny.
I've read a couple of books lately that were good, but this was my favorite.
I found it at the library. The cover is beautiful like the inside.
[the first few paragraphs behind the cut]
All good secretaries will eventually find truth in the hearts of men.
Winona Bartlett, Win to her friends, might not have been the world's best secretary, but her nature was such that serving, subservience, and coffee service came easily, and, in fact, she felt there was an inherent good in doing things well, and this determination more than equaled her actual interest in the long-term prospects at Grecko Mauster Crill. She practiced her secretarial role as a Zen meditation; what role she was more suited to remained a mystery, though she was now nearly thirty. She held on to the notion that one day she might make a living by creative, individualistic endeavor. It was her belief that if she in fact made the pretty God's eye with purple and orange yarn and winsomely presented her creation, the judge would be charmed, and she would get a gold star.
Or so it seemed to have been promised to our heroine, who, at this moment was standing on an elevator, soaring up to the Chrysler Building's fifty-eighth floor.
I am using my Anne/Diana icon, in honor of another book I loved.
But The Anxiety of Everyday Objects is more than that. The language is unique and graceful and constantly surprising. It's not hard to read at all -- since I no longer have free weeks open for reading War and Peace, ease of reading has become a concern. But this language was liquid and the images thoughtful but the book still flowed with a sort of dreamy grace.
The heroine, Winona, is not my favorite character ever, but she has certain charming quirks and a cat named Fruit Bat, whom she loves dearly and who seems very real. The romance sold me utterly -- easy enough to do, unless you're writing a show called Stargate -- but wasn't cloying. The dialogue felt out of synch with the beauty of the rest of the language -- which feels like life.
The point of view was juggled wonderfully -- mostly Winona's, but some surprising and just-right dips into other character's heads that were refreshing and not jarring. It felt at times quaint and old-fashioned, but was very contemporary, and very slyly funny.
I've read a couple of books lately that were good, but this was my favorite.
I found it at the library. The cover is beautiful like the inside.
[the first few paragraphs behind the cut]
All good secretaries will eventually find truth in the hearts of men.
Winona Bartlett, Win to her friends, might not have been the world's best secretary, but her nature was such that serving, subservience, and coffee service came easily, and, in fact, she felt there was an inherent good in doing things well, and this determination more than equaled her actual interest in the long-term prospects at Grecko Mauster Crill. She practiced her secretarial role as a Zen meditation; what role she was more suited to remained a mystery, though she was now nearly thirty. She held on to the notion that one day she might make a living by creative, individualistic endeavor. It was her belief that if she in fact made the pretty God's eye with purple and orange yarn and winsomely presented her creation, the judge would be charmed, and she would get a gold star.
Or so it seemed to have been promised to our heroine, who, at this moment was standing on an elevator, soaring up to the Chrysler Building's fifty-eighth floor.
I am using my Anne/Diana icon, in honor of another book I loved.