Just read Francine Prose's review of Jim Crace's new novel. Almost all of us talked with Jim Crace about our stuff, right around the time we witnessed Francine Prose dismantle S-Kist and, to a lesser degree, K-Moff, before celebrating Yiyun and Sana's stories. (Ms. Prose's appearance began the Passion Week of 2005, by the way: she came on Monday, Marilynne won the Pulitzer on Tuesday [and destroyed me in workshop], Frank died Wednesday [the same day Saul Bellow died and the same day that big oak on the Dey House lawn was felled to start work on the library, which was understood at first by some -- me at least -- as symbolically related to Frank's passing], Josh Kendall came Thursday, and Mr. Franzen came Friday [stressful for me since I drove him into town], with the crazy week ending with what might have been the best party of the year [both years?] at Leslie and Nina's.) I've never quite trusted Ms. Prose or read her novels etc, in part because I've never trusted her surname, same as I wouldn't trust a big-hair/leather-panted shredder guitarist whose last name was "Heavy Fucking Metal" . . . Some of you might remember Mr. Crace talking about his post-apocalyptic novel involving a great wave of US-to-Europe emigration compelled by environmental tragedy. He's finished it and published it. And now Ms. Prose has worked it over in somewhat respectful public fashion, opening with flattery, moving to lengthy plot synopsis (that I always skim/skip), and finishing with a round of complimentary dismissal. Oh the ugh of it all, Mr. Crace! The surname "Crace" reminds me of claws scuttling gracefully across a silver seafloor. I like the way the bloke writes: with "hallucinatory skill," so sayeth Mr. Updike. He was real kind to everyone when he visited. He taught us the virtue of making up the name for the lissom grass along the dunes and the sandhoppers that frolic in the shorebreak . . . God bless him and everyone. (This was our 25th post. Here's to 25 more before the Year 2010.)
1 comment:
I read that review. The negativeness kind of snuck up on me. I was cruising along, thinking "This sounds good, this sounds good," then Prose pretty much dismissed the whole thing out of hand with a weird backhanded compliment.
Kind of reminded me of a Marilynne workshop.
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