How does that keep happening?

Waking up a few times every night and not being able to get back to sleep is not doing much for my daytime productivity, but it is doing wonders for my reading track record. Several times this week I have caught myself not particularly enjoying books, but finishing them nonetheless. There must be something about the wee small hours that make them very efficient reading times.

The book I started and finished in the dark this week was Sloane Crosley's essay collection How Did You Get This Number. I read Crosley's first essay collection, I Was Told There'd Be Cake, and although it got raves from every single critic there is, it didn't do a whole lot for me. So I'm not sure why I got this next volume, but there you have it. And again, there's either something about Crosley's subjects or writing that just doesn't light me on fire.

But yet...I read the whole thing. And in the last essay I got a little bit of Crosley's appeal: she's got the "essay twist" skill (this is what I call it when an essay takes a turn from its subject matter to its deeper meaning, usually aided and abetted by some sentences that take my breath away). In "Off the Back of a Truck," she combines the topics of a love affair gone wrong with her acquaintance with a furniture store employee who helped her get some questionable deals on merchandise. Sounds simple, but it's one of those essays where you know a lot more is going on than you're appreciating. I hope I'm not giving too much away, but in the end she gives up her furniture deals and her sadness over the failed relationship:

"Time passed, and I found myself wandering into Out of Your League [the store in question]--where I was apparently wearing an outfit that indicated I should be followed around like a fourteen-year-old shoplifter...I went over to the carpet wheel and spun, but I couldn't find one to fall in love with. I think I had just outgrown my fascination with the store in general. A thin, older saleslady in pearls lowered her glasses and asked me if she could help me with anything. But I could tell she didn't mean it.

'I think I'm set.' I waved, repeatedly pressing the button for the ground floor while she pretended not to judge me.*

What can you do? Time grabs you by the scruff of your neck and drags you forward. You get over it, of course. Everyone was right about that. One mathematically insignificant day, you stop hoping for happiness and become actually happy. Okay, on occasion, you do worry about yourself. You worry about what this experience has tapped into..." (pp. 270-271.)

There's more, in a totally fabulous conclusion, but I don't want to ruin it in case you read it. I just love the "time grabs you by the scruff" bit, because that's exactly what it does. Damn talented essayists, even when they're not my favorite essayists.

*I must always look pretty low-rent because this is how I usually get treated in stores too. Oh well. I can live with it.

Comments

[Donna]

Loved the quote. Just added to my hold list.

[Citizen Reader]

Donna,
I'd like to hear what you think of it. Some of the essays: emphatically not for me. But man, I think formwise--the woman knows how to write an essay.

[pop tart]

I woke the other night around 2 am (I think the dog wanted out) and couldn't get back to sleep. Ended up reading the last 100 pages of a book I'd put down before turning out the light. Granted it was a thriller, though only a fair to middling one, but still it is rare nowadays for me to have time like that that is uninterrupted either by external forces or my own brain thinking I should be doing something else.

[sherry]

I just finished this book too. It took me a long time to read it because after the first essay, it was just not grabbing me. The last essay made it all worthwhile. Know what you can afford to lose.

[Rachael]

You know, this author never sounded too appealing (I think it's her name, if that isn't too horrible to admit--she sounds like an annoying, uppity, perpetual sorority girl, though I'm sure she's really not; yeah, I don't judge books by their covers, just by their author's name. Sigh.).

I think I will pick this up and just skip right to the last essay. That's just a very striking image--so...correct.

[Citizen Reader]

Pop Tart!
I hope you were able to get back to sleep after reading your thriller. 2 and 3 a.m. are dark, dark hours. But yes, maybe there is something to having the freedom in the middle of the night to read (because you tell yourself you're probably not fit for much else, and no one wants to start work when they're still hoping to go right back to bed).

Sherry,
Yup, a lot of the early essays left me cold. That's why I was so surprised to find, all of a sudden, that I was on the last essay!

Rachael,
Well, I don't know that she's uppity (there's another essay about some of her learning/school difficulties that made me feel her life's had its challenges) but there's something very New York (for lack of a better term?) about these essays. But I keep coming back to, even though she may not be for me, I think she's pretty skilled. (I'm jealous!)