On Being Blue

The strangest thing happened while I was reading this book. It was chosen by my book club and I had not googled anything about it nor about its author ahead of reading. And yet as I read it I couldn't help but picture the author a certain very particular way and lo and behold! he happens to look exactly like what I imagined: a frumpy uncle type whom you wouldn't want to be in any way lewd in your presence. The kind of guy who finds Henry James' cunnilingus metaphors titillating and who uses phrases like “go fuck a duck” (gasp!).

Boy, did this book age badly. The prose is mostly quite wonderful (though I did find myself shockingly thinking “wow I'm so bored with alliteration” towards the end of it [!!]) but its references feel extremely dated (it was written in the 70s, it turns out).

Also, I can't help but think that all of Gass'es somewhat incoherent struggles with sex writing will have been voided with the discovery of Nicholson Baker.