Nick Kocz's Ridiculous Words
  • SM Thayer
  • About
  • Writing
  • Contact
  • Blog

Snow, Kate Atkinson, and Anger

2/12/2014

 
Picture
The sky has turned that ominous shade of off-white that precedes all major snowstorms.  Here in Blacksburg, we’re expecting twelve inches of snow over as many hours.  Winter otherwise has been mostly snowless, but consistently cold.  Colder than I can ever remember it being here in Blacksburg.  The kids are excited though, which, I guess, is how kids are before major weather events.  Yesterday, they combed through the garage and located their sleds.  School let out three hours early in anticipation of the storm.  It’ll probably only be a matter of hours before they’re coasting down hills, sledding at the park that’s a block away from our house.

Me, I’m a bit more troubled.  As I’m writing this, I see the first snowflakes coming down outside through my office window.  Snow, though, is not what’s troubling me. 

Yesterday, I started reading Kate Atkinson’s Life After Life, her thoroughly gripping novel that was published last year.  About an hour ago, I reached an incident in the book (at page 188) that made me as angry as I’ve been in recent years.  For those who haven’t read the novel, I’ll refrain from going into specifics… but it was horrifyingly riveting.  Shocking, yet believable.  And forceful enough that, immediately upon reading the scene, I put down the book in anger.

I had been reading the book in bed, mostly because the kids, having been let out of school early, are using every other room of the house as a glorified rumpus room.  The bed was quiet, peaceful, but then I came upon this troubling passage. 

Have you heard the phrase, “hopping mad”?  Until an hour ago, I thought it nothing more than a hyperbolic cliché.  Yet it described my state of mind perfectly.  Putting down the book, I hopped out of bed.  Angry.  I believe in procedural justice.  Meaning that I’m no friend of the kind of vigilante mob I wanted to incite for the purpose of tracking down and snuffing out, in the most cruelest way, the book’s offending character.  Seriously.  Visions of carnage, of white-hot iron pokers stabbing into flesh poured through my mind.

Which is silly, isn’t it?  The book’s incident takes place in 1926.  And is purely fictional.  Meaning that to invoke retribution, I’d have to burrow into times and imaginations that, frankly, shouldn’t be breached.  At least not by the sane.

But that’s how angry I was.

And actually, much of that anger remains. 

In the hour or so since I’ve read that passage, I’ve picked up the book a couple more times.  On each occasion, I managed to read but a couple more pages before anger once again ignited and destroyed my powers of concentration, of rational thought.

No doubt, I’ll pick the book up later today and read through the rest of the novel.  For the next couple of hours though, the book will remain on my shelf.  I’ve got snow to look forward to, sledding ventures to supervise.  Plus there’s the big Arsenal-Man U game to watch.  God, I hope Arsenal plays better than they did over the weekend, when Liverpool thoroughly embarrassed them.



Comments are closed.

    Categories

    All
    Adam Johnson
    Alan Cheuse
    Alexander Solzhenitsyn
    Alexi Zentner
    Amber Sparks
    Amy Rowland
    Andrew Wylie
    Andy Warhol
    Anna Snoekstra
    Ann Patchett
    Arsène Wenger
    Aubrey Hirsch
    B.A. Paris
    Barack Obama
    Ben Fountain
    Ben Marcus
    BEST DAY EVER
    Bob Dylan
    Book Reviews
    Bryan Furuness
    Cathy Day
    Children Of Paradise
    Chimamanda Adichie
    Christine Butterworth-McDermott
    Daniel Patrick Moynihan
    Dave Housley
    David Bowie
    David Foster Wallace
    David Lynn
    Donald Barthelme
    Donald Trump
    Don't You Cry
    Ed Falco
    E.M.Forster
    Emma Chapman
    Emmanuel Adebayor
    Flannery O'Connor
    Flash Fiction
    Frank Conroy
    Fred D'Aguiar
    F. Scott Fitzgerald
    Gabriel Blackwell
    George Harrison
    George Saunders
    Gillian Flynn
    Girija Tropp
    Harper Lee
    Heart
    Hillary Clinton
    I Will Never Leave You
    Jacob Appel
    James Lasdun
    James Tadd Adcox
    Jane Fonda
    Jeff Ell
    Jenniey Tallman
    John Cusack
    John Lennon
    John Updike
    Joyce Carol Oates
    J. Robert Lennon
    Julie Lawson Timmer
    Kaira Rouda
    Kate Atkinson
    Keith Banner
    Kenyon Review
    Kim Jong Il
    Kyle Minor
    Lance Olsen
    Len Kuntz
    Lenny Dykstra
    Leslie Pietrzyk
    Lily Hoang
    Lisa Jewell
    Lou Reed
    Luke Geddes
    Mary Kubica
    Melissa Febos
    Milan Kundera
    Molly Gaudry
    Nicholson Baker
    Notes For My Biographer
    Pablo Picasso
    Paula Hawkins
    Paul Maliszewski
    Paul Mccartney
    Philip Roth
    REAL: Regarding Arts & Letters
    Richard Peabody
    Rick Moody
    Robert Kloss
    Robert Smartwood
    Roxane Gay
    Shirley Hazzard
    S.J. Watson
    S.M. Thayer
    SM Thayer
    Stéphane Hessel
    Stuart Dybek
    Submission Fees
    Sven Birkerts
    Tadeusz Borowski
    The Beatles
    The Fall Guy
    The Girls In The Garden
    The Good Girl
    The Official Catalog Of The Library Of Potential Literature
    Thomas Mallon
    Tim O'Brien
    Tony Earley
    Umberto Eco
    Virginia Woolf
    Wells Tower
    Willem De Kooning
    Working Class Hero

    Archives

    August 2018
    January 2018
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    May 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    September 2015
    February 2015
    November 2014
    September 2014
    July 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    May 2013
    March 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011
    August 2011
    July 2011
    June 2011
    May 2011
    April 2011
    March 2011
    February 2011
    January 2011

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.