Books

My name‿ is‿ Alice. I read some thirty^thir-dy books‿ a year,│ most‿ of them fiction,│ and‿ I have ceased defending the preference,│ the case for‿ it being considerably stronger than the case‿ against.

What‿ I seek‿ is voice rather than plot. A novel will survive‿ a thin story│ if the narration‿ is convincing,│ whereas no accumulation‿ of‿ inciden(t) will rescue prose that does not function. Las(t) year‿ I abandoned four novels within fifty^fif-dy pages,│ which would horrify my mother,│ who regards‿ it‿ as‿ a moral failure to leave‿ anything‿ unfinished. I have‿ also learned to be sceptical‿ of the word‿ unputdownable,│ which‿ in my experience signals the reverse,│ and‿ of the critic│ whose‿ enthusiasm‿ is‿ expressed‿ exclusively in‿ adjectives.

I read‿ in translation‿ as frequently as‿ in‿ English,│ and‿ I have concluded that the translator‿ is the most‿ underrated figure‿ in the entire‿ enterprise. Derivative work within‿ a genre‿ is regularly published‿ an(d) promptly forgotten,│ while the canon‿ is composed largely of books that were‿ unfashionable‿ at the moment‿ of their‿ appearance. My husban(d) reads‿ only non-fiction‿ an(d) maintains that‿ a novel‿ is‿ a well-tol(d) lie. If that‿ is│ so,│ then‿ a lie that teaches you to feel what‿ another person feels‿ is worth‿ acquiring,│ and‿ it costs less than the alternative. Books‿ are my pretex(t) for‿ understanding strangers,│ and‿ I have│ yet to find‿ a cheaper one.