A Good, Hard Read

 I did once binge watch a TV show, although that was only two episodes in a row, and it was the BBC adaptation of a novel series, Douglas Adams' Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency. More typically, my binges are centered on authors, and I'm a not particularly fast reader, so they last longer in time than they truly are in quantity. Also, by binge, I mean that I will read the full catalog, at my usual waddling pace with lots of gaps, whenever I find an author I enjoy. Ok, ok, the binge watching analogy is pretty wrong, but my point, yes, I have one, is it's been a few years since I found an author that inspired the deep dive.

I'm a big fan of the advent of little libaries, and not just because they're free. Condensing a library down to a few dozen books that others felt worth sharing is great for browsing, and being a curbside bibliophile can bring a bountiful break to a ramble.  A couple weeks ago the title Man Walks into a Room caught my eye enough for my next test: reading the first sentence. I generally have a good sense of how much I'll like authors' works by the skill with which they attempt to draw a reader. It passed. I took it.

No the cover isn't red, 

but my lights are 

since the crimson hue disturbs my sleep less.

It was a good find, and I agree with the cover's quoted evaluation that Nicole Krauss is an inspiring young writer, except maybe that line is showing its age, as Krauss was born only a few months after I was. She writes well, and I already have another of her books from the library waiting for me to start my next binge, or whatever they are. For example, to paraphrase, since I'm not quoting her exactly, one chapter opens with a delightfully ironic image of early daylight "snuffing out" artificial lights.

It has not, however, been an entirely easy read, emotionally. The plot starts with a man, a professor of English in his mid thirties, who is found in the desert unable to identify himself. A benign turmor, while not threatening his life, has put pressure on his brain, and after its removal, his memory, from age twelve until the surgery, is gone. He doesn't remember his education, his classes, or his wife.

My TBI wasn't as bad as that, but for two weeks, I had about two minutes of short term memory, so I kept removing the brace that was protecting my broken neck. The hospital put me in restraint mitts, but apparently I figured out how to remove those with my teeth, because, give me a problem and nothing but time to solve it, yeah, I'll be a demanding patient. And yet, I'm told I was always courteous and thankful when my situation was explained to me. That means a lot to me because I don't always trust that I'm an inherently nice person, but it seems stripped pretty bare, my personality wasn't awful.

My partner at the time, Adele, experienced and remembered all that I missed, and even slept, or didn't sleep, at the hospital to help the overextended nursing staff prevent me from further damaging myself. Yes, Adele may still flinch at the sound of Velcro separating. I did eventually start remembering and switch from neck brace removal to contemplating my situation, recovery, and potential lifestyle changes. About a month after the accident, I was even discharged from the recovery facility after being taught to walk again.

Adele has referred to tandem bicycles as "relationship accelerators", and in many ways the accident had a similar effect. January of the next year, our partnership ended. After time and talking, we are close friends, appreciate eachother immensely, and I can say, "I love you," while recognizing that we are not eachother's final destination. Krauss' main character, he and his wife, for whom he has only post surgery memories, separate, and the novel ends with a friendly, but uneasy, exchange between the two, and then finally closes with a switch to a first person perspective from Anna, the wife. It's well crafted writing, and yes, I'll be contemplating my own parallels, and happy divergence, for a long time, I hope.