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The Spectator Bird ::
I was hoping that, in this new year of reading, I would be more vigorous. But it was something about the holidays, the booze and the cold, the snow drifting onto the porch and leaving me feeling isolated, that made the process start slowly. It took me nearly two weeks to read The Spectator Bird, a 214-page book. I know I am typically a slow reader, but usually it takes no more than a week to read a book, especially one that is so short. I can give you the excuse that Stegner is a dense, nuanced writer, and reading fifty pages of his work is like reading an entire book by a lesser author, but that would be disingenouous, bordering on outrightly false.
Honestly, I was frustrated with this book. It was one of those stories in which not much happens: a retired literary agent tends to his home, his wife, his aging physical self, but in the meantime he is grappling with the errors he has made in his life. Through his ruminations we see the people he has lost, the choices he has made and the inactivity that has resulted in an existence that he now sees is unchallenging and unfulfilling. This leaves him feeling quite sad. And while the feelings he relates are nuanced and tangible, I found it hard to read forty pages of a flashback only to find that in real time, we never left his bedroom. It made me feel stuck, and while that might have been the point Stegner was trying to communicate, I was uninspired to push forward. I had to deal with the snow and the cold outside.
But don’t get me wrong. This book is excellent. And as I noted before, there are some truely great passages in the book. And as I’ve been reading it, I’ve found that Stegner’s style is having an effect on me -- as I write, I feel similar to the way I did when I was reading the book. I’ve learned that that’s a sign of a truely excellent writer. And I recommend you read this book. Just don’t do it in the dead of winter.
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