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4/20/04 Reader Andy traded me a copy of Stoner for Instant Love. It hardly seems a fair trade in retrospect, but I'm glad he did it. I took a day and finished it yesterday, having nibbled on it a bit over the weekend - on the plane, and before bed. It's a wonderful book, simply and elegantly written, with a tight structure, and highly inspirational moments about the love of literature and education. From the scene where Stoner's mentor encourages him to be a teacher: Stoner felt himself suspended in the wide air, and he heard his voice ask, "Are you sure?" "I'm sure," Sloane said softly. "How can you tell? How can you be sure?" "It's love, Mr. Stoner," Sloane said cheerfully. "You are in love. It's as simple as that." It was as simple as that. He was aware that he nodded to Sloane and said something inconsequential. Then he was walking out of the office. His lips were tingling and his fingertips were numb; he walked as if he were asleep, yet he was intensely aware of his surroundings. He brushed against the polished wooden walls in the corridor, and he thought he could feel the warmth and age of the wood; he went slowly down the stairs and wondered at the veined cold marble that seemed to slip beneath his feet. In the halls the voices of the students became distinct and individual out of the hushed murmur, and their faces were close and strange and familiar. He went out of Jesse Hall into the morning, and the grayness no longer seemed to oppress the campus; it led his eyes outward and upward into the sky, where looked as if toward a possibility for which he had no name. That's just on page 20, by the way. I have no idea how you get a copy of this book because it's out of print. I guess you have to publish a teeny tiny love story, offer it for trade on the internet, and cross your fingers and wait. That, or look on ebay. Steve Almond wrote about Stoner in Tin House. Also there's a lively interview of John Williams by Dan Wakefield from the 1970s in the Ploughshares archives. Interviews are so bitchy and cynical these days, it's refreshing to read one that actually contains the following sentence: For three days he managed to avoid it altogether, as he took me around to some of the bars, beaches, and restaurants of the island, dropping in on old friends like the poets Richard Wilbur and John Ciardi, meeting his new friend and Key West neighbor Peter Taylor, the short story writer, going to a party at poet James Merrill's house, drinking wine and talking and eating the Conch Chowder that is the local specialty and John has now added to his culinary repertoire, a favorite right up there with his Texas Jailhouse Chili (the purist concoction with no tomatoes.) Once upon a time, people were giddy about writing. Remember that. |