I buy far too many books, and I read far too many books too superficially. And I really don't like novels. Very occasionally a book strikes to the heart of the matter.
I also buy pretty much all of those books from charity shops on the strength of the cover. This was no exception.
I've read some pretty damn fine books this year. The Secret Lives of Buildings by Edward Hollis was right up my street anyway but packed with revelation. Energy Flash by Simon Reynolds was an incredible journey through a part of culture that had seemed beyond my grasp with memory and research powerfully combined. Both were charity shop finds.
I hadn't heard of John Williams, but the book was in decent nick, I liked the cover and thought it would look good on my shelves. Which, frankly, is where most books spend most of their time. I was encouraged by positive words of people I respected on the back. I expected a gentle, thoughtful read.
Stoner is a marvel of terse prose and overwhelming truth, I think. Its subject is unremarkable and therefore felt absolutely relevant to me personally. It's heartbreakingly honest, both tragic and reassuring.
I don't want to oversell it. It hasn't changed my world, but it has stayed with me because it speaks of things that are always with me. Now, of course, this book is everywhere, on everyone's must-read lists and stacked up on tables in every good bookshop. Often the pretentious part of me despairs that a discovery of mine has suddenly become mainstream; not in this case.
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