I mentioned about a month ago that I was looking forward to rereading Nicholson Baker’s The Anthologist. The book club I frequent has it on the list for this year and I just thought, lucky me. I’ve just finished it, again, and again I’d have to say, lucky me. And lucky you too if you read it even once.
At some point in the past month I came across Nabokov’s exhortation to his students on the virtues of rereading. Indeed he didn’t think you could get much out a single reading, though sadly that’s all I’m sure many books get from most readers.
I’m entirely uncertain as to how the other readers in my book club will respond to Baker. I consider him one of the finest American writers. One gets the feeling that every single word is selected with great care. But not at the expense of the overall rhythm and lyrical arc. His intensely human portrait of Paul Chowder – whom I couldn’t help thinking of as the narrator of Al Purdy’s poem At the Quinte Hotel – could incline you to just want to lean over and give Paul a silent hug. It’s really a love story, I suppose, a meandering exploration and declaration of Paul’s love for Roz. When Roz says, “Don’t you love the smell of brown paper bags filled with raw vegetables,” Paul leans over the bag she is carrying and breathes deep and agrees. His love for Roz at that moment impels him to want “to lie down on the sidewalk as a result.” That’s beautiful. Simple. Sad. Sweet. (rest)
I hope at least a few of the other readers in the group have found Baker’s The Anthologist as touching as I have.