(2 stars)
This is a book I CAN put down rather easily. It has no "juice".
Learning of his early upbringing with no books in the house, I was hooked. When he begins to tell of his growing passion for books, and his fear that this would be a narrative of interest only to others with a similar passion, I became excited to read more. McMurty does not deliver. Rather than holding my attention and awe, I find "books" to have devolved after the first few chapters into something quite dreadful and boring.
An author with the ability to write as McMurtry does has cheated an audience he alone might have held in the palm of his hand. Rather than caress fellow bookmen like some fine leather tome he might hold in high regard, he has relegated us to the remainder pile, covers removed...no love at all. It is a shame, as I am certain the depth of his real life in books is far more interesting than the poorly rendered skin of what he has provided here.
I noticed McMurtry split up his memoirs into 3 parts. Reeks of over-commercialism, and I already feel like it won't be worth the time to read the other 2. After reading the reviews for those, I definitely won't purchase either of them.
Having finished McMurtry's book on books just this morning, I was able to find some little redemption in the few fleshed out tales he recounts. This mostly due to the fact that he writes about large acquisitions for Booked Up (and with some detail). All-in-all the sparse chapters (109 of them!) have a sense of "filler" about them. As though the author had a dozen stories to tell, and crammed in 90+ snippets of asides or footnotes to fulfill some deadline.
ReplyDeleteAlthough McMurtry finally does lead us into his thoughts on reading, writing, and collecting...the telling is so minimal as to be ultimately unsatisfying to this reader. I delved into it to find a "trove of stories" only to discover a pittance of minimalistic and seemingly passing thoughts.
So ... Hagiographical this ain't. You're saying this famous author of brilliant ability has been spirited away and replaced by someone else - not the evil McMurtry doppelganger, which could be exciting, but unfortunately the dull doppelganger, McMurky. Or so you seem to feel.
ReplyDeleteI can't agree or disagree with your review - having not read the book, but upon your recommendation, even though I have enjoyed Mr. McMurtry's books in the past, I am not rushing out to buy it; maybe if someone kicks it down the road I'll fetch it up from the dust and give it a try - or if I'm walking past some remainder table and it happens to hop off the table at my feet - can't ignore happenings like that. I very well might read it and enjoy it; likely that would be the case.
In the meantime nearly all memoirs by book collectors, book scouts, and used book dealers amount to "... and then I found ... " or " ... I foolishly let that one slip through my fingers ..." or "...and then (insert name of famous author/collector /antiquarian/rare book librarian) says to me/advises me/warns me/asks my advice ..." Sometimes one gets a passage such as, "It was the most beautiful book I had ever beheld ..."
Perhaps you were hoping for bibliographical revelations, and perhaps open to being awed by the muscle of his mind and perhaps inspired by the capaciousness of his bibliographical knowledge - you wanted a Lost Ark of the Bookworld; instead, you feel, the book amounts to a jumbled - possibly random - collection of memories and obvious truisms? Maybe you wanted a fabulous adventure 'novel' about books in the form of a bookish memoir. You got a bookish memoir.
Don't you know? I'm sure you do: Most bookmen lead lives of quiet routine. Not dull for them, for they certainly enjoy the routine, else why do it? Certainly not for the financial rewards. Their adventures are in the books they read, or in the novels they write, not in the books they write about the books they live with.
Mr. McMurtry's book is likely exciting in the same way that A. Edward Newton's or Orcutt's books were; it remains to be seen if it achieves a similar classical reputation, taking its place on Mount Parnassus. Probably not, since their books delivered, and according to you, doppelganger McMurky does not - there are no revelations.
So ... Hagiographical this ain't. You're saying this famous author of brilliant ability has been spirited away and replaced by someone else - not the evil McMurtry doppelganger, which could be exciting, but unfortunately the dull doppelganger, McMurky.
ReplyDeleteI can't agree or disagree with your review - having not read the book, but upon your recommendation, I am not rushing out to buy it; maybe if someone kicks it down the road I'll fetch it up from the dust and give it a try - or if I'm walking past some remainder table and it happens to hop off the table at my feet - can't ignore happenings like that. I very well might read it and enjoy it.
In the meantime, nearly all memoirs by book collectors, book scouts, and used book dealers amount to "- and then I found - " or " - I foolishly let that one slip through my fingers -" or "- and then (insert name of famous author/collector /antiquarian) says to me/advises me/warns me/asks my advice-"
Perhaps you were hoping for bibliographical revelations, and perhaps open to being awed by the muscle of his mind and perhaps inspired by the capaciousness of his bibliographical knowledge - you wanted a Lost Ark of the Bookworld; instead, you feel, the book amounts to a jumbled - possibly random - collection of memories and obvious truisms?
Don't you know? Most bookmen lead lives of quiet routine. Not dull for them, for they certainly enjoy the routine, else why do it? Their adventures are in the books they read, or in the novels they write, not in the books they write about the books they live with.
Oh - there is adventure in the hunt - sad that such a fine writer cannot communicate that thrill.
Thank you for your commentary, twice is always nice. My passing thought to delete one seems improper.
ReplyDeleteMore correctly, I wanted a Blood Meridian of the Bookworld from a living breathing TEXAS bookman who knows his way around words as well as books. At one point he writes of a book he coveted but declined to steal from his employer. (Edward Dahlberg's Bottom Dogs-intro by D.H. Lawrence) For the non-initiated reader, what made this such a noteworthy item... something to be propped up for the slightest inclination of near-theft? He doesn't say. This is the theme throughout...he just doesn't say. He drops title, and author names, and items which have passed his hands...but does not embellish much beyond that.
Perhaps I am too much a romantic.