The New York Book

Tonight I finished Manhattan Transfer, the classic novel by John Dos Passos, published in 1925. Take about eight characters living in Manhattan, follow them for a decade or so, and mix up their narratives. Don't initially identify them by name in each vignette (or should I say "fragment"?)--let the reader guess who you're talking about.

Voila! You have a postmodern novel that messes with people's categories at the time of its publication.

I liked Dos Passos's book better than those of the other naturalists (e.g., Dreiser, Norris). For one thing, instead of including only gross references to food, he included the yummy along with the yucky. I was also amused by some of his character descriptions. One guy was "shaped like a larvae with a long hook nose"! And as I mentioned yesterday, I especially enjoyed reading this after having just spent several days in Manhattan. I could picture where 124th Street was, and Columbia Circle, and Battery Park.

Last night my niece asked me how many books I had left to read. I told her I thought it was between twenty and thirty. But when I actually counted them up tonight, the number exceeded fifty. Oh, ma-a-an. I hate when that happens.