Summer deepens and a root reaches for receding
water with a sense of waking long afterward
long after the main event whatever it was
has faded out like the sounds of a procession
like April like the age of dew like the beginning
now the dry grass dying keeps making the sounds of rain
to hollow air while the wheat whitens in the cracked fields
and they keep taking the cows farther up into the woods
to dwindling pools under the oaks and even there
the brown leaves are closing their thin hands and falling
and out on the naked barrens where the light shakes
in a fever without a surface and the parched shriek
of the cicadas climbs with the sun the bats
cling to themselves in crevices out of the light
and under stone roofs those who live watching the grapes
like foxes stare out over the plowed white stones
and see in all the hueless blaze of the day nothing
but rows of withered arms holding up the green grapes
* * *
From The Vixen.
The tale is simple: Paul Chowder is a poet. Unassuming, quiet; rather boring, actually. Paul Chowder has collected an anthology of rhyming poems, and is now tasked with writing the introduction to this anthology. He’s having a tough time of it. And his live-in girlfriend has left him out of frustration at his listlessness. He spends his days in the barnhouse loft thinking, singing made-up songs to himself, reading poetry (though unsure he even still likes poetry), doing anything but writing the damned introduction. This is the scenario Nicholson Baker drops us into. Perhaps not the most electrifying plot for a novel, but I’m not so sure this is a novel anyway. In reality it’s more like a fake memoir; something closer to Jim Harrison’s Wolf, except with less drinking and sex. I think making this distinction is important to understanding and liking the book as well. If you go into it expecting something in the way of plot, climax, resolution, etc., well, you’ll probably come away feeling a bit cheated. If you come to this book expecting a good story, however, you will feel sated by the end, full of life and good poetry.
The Anthologist is a rambling, free-form book. This line from the book sums it up quite well, actually:
It’s hard to hold it all in your head. All the different possible ways that you can enjoy life. Or not enjoy life. And all the things that are going on.
It is hard to hold it all in your head sometimes. This book is one person letting it out of his head. I hesitate to even approach the phrase “stream of consciousness” because nothing turns off a casual reader (or even an avid reader) like a STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS narrative. Gah! Get away! Make it stop! Baker’s book has much going for it though that should make you consider adding it to your book list. 1) It’s pretty short. 2) It’s pretty funny. 3) Paul Chowder is simply a likable character. He’s nice, sweet in his own way, and has a sort of innocence to him that you don’t usually see male lead characters carrying. Even when he mucks things up, it’s hard to stay mad at him. This makes the book pleasant to read and think about.
And most importantly 4) it’s about POETRY. Yeah poetry! While the book doesn’t require an encyclopedic knowledge of poetry to enjoy, it insists on an appreciation of poetry and all the fun things that go with it, like language, wordplay, rhyme, meter, and melody. Yes melody. Read the book, you’ll get it. Our Mr. Chowder spends a lot of time talking about poetry. You’ll fall in love with the writings of poets you’ve never read before, like Elizabeth Bishop and W.S. Merwin, and then you will spend a Saturday afternoon collecting their collected works. Probably half the book he spends talking about poetry. Yikes, you say. But don’t worry, you love poetry. If you don’t, this book is not for you. But if you didn’t love poetry, you wouldn’t read my blog, and here you are reading it, so you must love poetry, therefore you will love this book.
Find The Anthologist here.