"The Anthologist" by Nicholson Baker

Nicholson Baker is regarded by many people in literary circles as a quiet genius.  "The Anthologist" might just be the biggest proof of it.  Baker does not stand out outside of literary fiction circles as other massively popular writers; perhaps this is one of those immeasurable gifts to devoted readers of the genre.  I only knew Baker from a non-fiction perspective "The Size of Thoughts: Essays and Other Lumber", despite having copies of "Vox" and "Fermata" that I have never gotten to.

"The Anthologist" is an intimate story.  Paul Chowder is a poet seemingly obsessed with proving to the world that the basis of all poetry is the four beat count.  He is struggling to write the introduction to an anthology of works that he believes will prove his theory.  Amid the daily ordinariness of his life, Chowder struggles with everything from procrastination to personal relationships, and the reader is taken for an intimate look at the psyche of a very (and I mean very) delicate individual.  Paul Chowder may be obsessed with his four beat theory, but he's one of those fictional characters that make us look at ourselves and the mass of inexplicable factors who make up personality and psychology.  The illustrations of absent-mindedness and never-ending rolling thoughts, the ease with which he branches off into a million different directions of distraction captures procrastination is like nothing I've ever read before.  This is just one of the many charms of this book, along with the numerous examples of poetry Chowder dissects to show his theories of rhythm.

Chowder also injects an incredible amount of information about literature and poetry into just a few passages of the book.  Nicholson Baker is amazing this way.  The intricate details of poetry and any other literary variables come into play in the narrative with powerful displays of what appears on the surface as "useless information."  To the "trained" eye, of course, these passages are the building blocks of making a genius come to life on the page.  Baker fleshes out Paul Chowder in just this way, and the result is simply perfect.  In regards to the popular latin phrase Carpe diem, Chowder explains, "Horace didn't say that. 'Carpe diem' doesn't mean seize the day--it means something gentler and more sensible. 'Carpe diem' means pluck the day. Carpe, pluck. Seize the day would be 'cape diem,' if my school Latin serves. No R. Very different piece of advice.  What Horace had in mind was that you should gently pull on the day's stem, as if it were, say, a wildflower or an olive, holding it with all the practiced care of your thumb and the side of your finger, which knows how to not crush easily crushed things--so that the day's stalk or stem undergoes increasing tension and draws to a thinness, and a tightness, and then snaps softly away at its weakest point, perhaps leaking a little milky sap, and the flower, or the fruit, is released in your hand. Pluck the cranberry or blueberry of the day tenderly free without damaging it, is what Horace meant--pick the day, harvest the day, reap the day, mow the day, forage the day. Don't freaking grab the day in your fist like a burger at a fairground and take a big chomping bite out of it. That's not the kind of man that Horace was."  Of course many people would read this passage and complain about the unnecessary splitting of hairs, but there is something deeper here, and Chowder (through Baker) hit the proverbial nail dead-center on the head.  What is represented here is the thought process of genius at work, and the difficulty of getting it down on paper again and again through the novel is just what makes this novel so amazing.

There are numerous passages like this one, and they vary with the ordinary moments of Paul Chowder's life.  The bulk of the narrative feels like a train wreck about to happen, for Chowder is facing a great deal of unknowns with each passing day he does not complete the introduction to his anthology.  His lover leaves him, he is not writing poetry or submitting for publication, and things simply do not look good for Chowder.  The reader, however, is not just rooting for Paul Chowder... the reader becomes (and is) Paul Chowder in many, many ways.

The novel is charming due to its lovable character, but there is an under-current of meaning and literary detail here that goes beyond its 243 pages.  It is the core of its simplicity--the flow of a narrative full of descriptive detail, literary insight and even psychological perspective-- that makes Nicholson Baker a master of the form and a genius of a curious and rare kind.

Classics for Pleasure by Michael Dirda

I have read every book by Michael Dirda.  While living in Washington, DC between 1996 and 2000, the Washington Post's "Book World" reviews were my Sunday morning treat.  "Bound to Please" was a Christmas gift from my students, and it was a book like no other; I felt my belief in literature renewed, as Dirda delved deep into the meaning of literature and how it nourishes (or should nourish) humanity.  The problem, of course, is the pace of humanity today, and our willingness to ignore the great themes of living for less time consuming tasks geared at total escapism.  I would admit that all literature can be escapism, but classics (as Dirda presents them) highlight the deeper emotions of the human condition.  That in itself should be enough for campaigns to encourage people to read the classics.  Instead, schools and even colleges have--over the course of the last thirty years--escalated an attack to all that which the "enlightened" ones deem archaic or out-dated or (heaven forbid) politically incorrect.

Classics for Pleasure is divided into eleven sections that cover varied themes dealing with imagination, heroes and their lives, magic, lives of consequence and the darkness of gothic regions.  Dirda is open about these not being "your father's or mother's" list of classics, although many of the titles are widely know, most are obscure enough to elicit a world-wide search if you choose to pursue them and read them--that is to say, a great deal of them are out of print.  However, the titles are not chosen for their mere eccentricity.  There are titles as well-known as "Frankenstein" and "Dracula," while authors such as Prosper Merimee and Anna Akhmatova seem drawn from a very selective group known to specialized academics.

The books and authors are covered in short little essays, including anecdotal and biographical details that are, well, a pleasure to read.  Dirda shows command with authors rich in bibliographical content, while at the same time being able to write with worth on authors where myth overshadows fact.  Perhaps that is where the book strengths really are... Dirda is such an excellent writer!  His writing flows with such ease that it works marvels for inviting the reader to continue on the journey.  Let that sink for a moment... writing about literary analysis/criticism (and about not the typical/popular titles we commonly know) and doing so in a way that is readable and enjoyable at the same time.

Of particular interest to me was the entry on Ernst Junger and his memoir from World War I.  I've been reading a great deal about the "Great War" this year due to the 100th anniversary of the conflict, and I was unaware of this book and how revered it is among World War I scholars.  I've tried finding a copy without success at local used bookstores.  I am yet to look online.

I not only recommend "Classics for Pleasure," but I recommend everything Michael Dirda has written without reserve.  He is without a doubt one of America's literary treasures.