Sheena Cimino Cimino itibaren Kosiny Bartosowe, Pollando
This book was sitting in Kimmy's locker at Sue's (along with maybe other books, I think) and I borrowed it and it was fantastic. She had told me of its wonders and after reading I agreed. On a side note, Justin saw Kimmy's review of it last night and told me that in grade school there was a girl in his class named Kate (or some other girly name) Livingston and they thought it would be funny to put this book in her desk. Which indeed it was, although he can't remember exactly why. The mind reels...
I'm going to come back to this book in 5 to 10 years because it didn't get a fair shake. There are a couple of reasons: 1) I don't usually read "challenging" fiction. By that, I mean books that can't easily be digested even when you're not giving your undivided attention. Books that rely on less commonly used words to build sentences. 2) I spent the entire book waiting, hoping, looking for any references to Watertown. The book isn't about Watertown. It's about failure, about the crushing weight of people's expectations, about addictions, alcoholism, grief, misery. It just happens to take place at some points in and around Watertown. There are some points in this book that are achingly funny. I'd recommend it to anyone with more patience than myself.
Reading this book was like having a prolonged, but interesting, conversation with Lionel Abel as he reminisced about his personal experiences in the world of the intelligentsia from 1929 on. From the outset, I tried to learn as much as conveniently possible about the people with whom he was acquainted, but had to abandon that effort as it was becoming too burdensome. I suspect this book would be much more enjoyable to readers already familiar with the intellectual elite of that period. Some of his anecdotes brought back vivid memories of my own aspirations while coming of age in the late 1970s and early 1980s - back when I thought I was part of a movement powerful and unique, while worriedly awestruck by events in the larger world (i.e., Reaganism and a renewed fervor for American exceptionalism). Unlike Abel's acquaintances, though, I don't think any of mine have gone on to be some of the most recognized names in leftist politics, literature, or art. I learned of this memoir from the bibliography of David Lehman's The Last Avant-Garde: The making of the New York School of Poets.
The book is sweet and sad as young 13 year old girl learns how to go on without her older sister. While deep at times, it makes you giggle too.