11 February 2005

Dow Mossman's novel

I started The Stones of Summer a couple days ago and have loved nearly every word so far, even the words that don't make any sense. Mossman is a stylist. His characters are extreme and extremely wondrous. I could quote by typing the book into this post, but I'll just hand you one paragraph.

"Dawes sat up in bed, feeling worthless, shaking the sand, the early and desolate hill of dog yips from his head. Arthur turned. He stood, leaning against the wooden jamb of the double glass doorway, looking back, and his eyes seemed almost dull, flatter than last year, muted somehow like reptiles not swimming in open water anymore. The doorway was wide and swinging apart and blowing the farm inward like morning fans; hot seepings of dogwood and fertile, silent manure. Arthur stood as if, even slightly slouching, he was holding up the house. A carefully weathered, twenty-five-dollar straw hat was on his head. Dawes decided suddenly that this would be, this must be, this might be the summer he would tell Arthur what a son of a bitch he really was . . ."

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