I was flipping through Wonder Boys yesterday, which was prompted by my grandfather's death - I recommended the novel to him because it talked about writing and we both enjoyed immensely. It was a book that we spent several hours talking about and kept coming back to again and again. No wonder that I was rereading it. Comfort books indeed.
I really enjoy Wonder Boys. I saw the movie first and identified with the main character (Michael Douglas in one of his better roles of recent history). A pothead writer who can't finish his book and has a mess of a personal life? Hey, that sounds like me.
I picked up the book before I went to Las Vegas on business two years ago and around page nine I decided that it was one of the best books I’d ever read. Kavalier and Clay deserved the Pulitzer, but wonder boys is still my favorite book by Chabon.
I consciously tried to write a romp like that and ended up with Weapons of Devotion, which is not really the same thing. (Of course, with Weapons of Devotion, I was not sure what I was doing. I was happy to be writing something different and trying to be confident in my ability to write dialogue and character, but at the same time, I was scared shitless of my ability to end the damned thing. I have a feeling that it's the strongest piece to date, though.)
But I read Wonder Boys because it made me think of my grandfather. One of the things I miss about him is talking about writing, which is something that we both appreciated about Chabon's story - how it captured the far-off look in the writer's eye and the utter inability to not pay attention to the voices in the back of the head.
Writing is a compulsion and when two writers can sit down and talk about that process with one another on the same terms, it's important. There is a synergy that exists, even if it is untapped. I had that dynamic with my grandfather and I like to think that it extended beyond generational or family boundaries. And I was happy with it. I was proud to be a part of that. And I miss it. Something tells me I always will.
the souvenir koan
an allegorical non-sequitor
