Again. Anagrams. It’s a wonderful, bewildering, poignant novel.
By this point we’re all aware that I’m obsessed and sing praises of this woman and her work quite frequently to the moon. As if you needed more fodder, more reason to get out and buy a book, here are three more Moore snippets. I don’t think I have to explain why I love them so much–though I am no longer nearly as bereft as Benna.
“I was not large enough for Gerard. I was small, lumpy, anchored with worry, imploded. He didn’t want me, he wanted Macy’s; like Aeneas or Ulysses, he wanted the anonymity and freedom to wander purchaseless from island to island. I could not be enough of the world for him. A woman could never be enough of the world, I thought, though that was what a man desired of her, though she flap her arms frantically trying.” (35)
“It was like some principle of physics: Things flowed naturally back and forth between the two apartments until the maximum level of chaos was reached. I had his can opener, but he had my ice-cube trays. It was as if our possessions were embarked upon some osmotic, conjugal exchange, a giant french kiss of personal effects, which had somehow left us behind.” (35)
And one more. I swear it’s the last for a goodly while!
“He also had a habit of charging after small animals and frightening them. Actually, the first time he did this it was with a bird in the park, and I laughed, thinking it hilarious. Later, I realized, it was weird: Gerard was thirty-one and charging after small mammals, sending them leaping into bushes, up trees, over furniture. He would then turn and grin, like a charmed maniac, a Puck with a Master’s degree. He liked also to water down the face and neck fur of cats and dogs, smoothing it back with his palms, like a hairdresser, saying it made them look like Judy Garland. I realized that life was too short for anyone honestly and thoroughly to outgrow anything, but it was clear that some people were making more of an effort than others.” (19)
Lorrie Moore–if ever you read this whilst Google searching your name–I thoroughly, completely, totally admire you. If you need boots licked, children wet-nursed, dogs walked or help moving heavy kitchen applicances, I’m here and I’m willing. Lugging your fridge? It would be an honor.