What Makes a Book Good?

Over the past few days I felt myself completely absorbed in a book. And let’s be clear, that by book I mean novel, because that’s what I like to read. Anyway, I allowed myself full slothful enjoyment of the book. I spent hours lying on the couch in the middle of the day and read and read. I chided myself at first. Shouldn’t I be working?

My manuscript waited somewhere inside my closed laptop – so close to being ready for beta readers, and yet so far. Why was I reading someone else’s book instead of working on my own?

But, see, the book was good. So good. Its language drew me in, mesmerized me. I understood the main character yet she remained opaque. Good writing can do that. We shared poetry rather than information. And then it occurred to me that, actually, I was working all along because reading is my job. How can one produce good writing without immersing oneself in it? Not that my writing aims to be similar to that other author’s, but in order to write well you do have to consume a vast quantity of enjoyable prose and you do have to think about why you enjoy it so. What makes one book magical and unforgettable while others might feel more like a chore to get through than a treat? (Important note: I don’t do chores, at least not the ones that can be avoided without dire consequences. If I don’t like a book, will unapologetically leave it unfinished).

Over the past few days, the novel I was reading seeped into my subconscious. I had two dreams inspired by it, and each day I awoke a little more alert to magic. On the third day I actually opened my manuscript, and joyfully and productively added words to it. Not information, but poetry. Words that can make the reader feel things. Words that convey some of the characters’ feelings without ruining the mystery. The reader gets to inhabit the characters’ inner world. The reader becomes the characters yet never fully, never completely. The story has texture and scent and taste more than it has meaning. The book is poetry and yet also not too poetic. (Books that are entirely too poetic are a drag, to me, at least, and as I am and will always be my number 1 reader, I don’t intend to produce that kind of stuff).

Anyway, I’m grateful that I was able to write stuff and feel good about my manuscript and give it a little more substance.

As to the book I devoured over the past few days, it’s called Hausfrau by Jill Alexander Essbaum and it’s about an American woman married to a Swiss man, living somewhere near Zürich, and being absolutely miserable. Now why do unhappy women invariably make for good poetry? Maybe Lana Del Rey can tell us (as Sylvia Plath is sadly not available). Then again, I’m guilty of the sad woman trope myself (and tropes are tropes because they are compelling). At first I thought the MC in Hausfrau reminded me of Betty in Storms of Malhado. Then I realized that she was more of a Louise in Magic Lessons for Margo and I liked her even better for it.

There’s a strong Anna Karenina vibe to this story. There’s also a lot of stuff about language and grammar, a lot of comparisons between German and English, all of which I like a lot. I even ended up having a dream about the German aspects of my upbringing, populated by some of the German speakers that were important in my childhood, and who I rarely really think about. Because, naturally, they are very far in the past. Though the language is not. I feel like German is such a big part of who I am. In that sense, I had trouble relating to the woman in the story, who had trouble learning and enjoying German. I find German supremely enjoyable, and quite well suited to poetry.

What I could relate to, however, was her finding het life in Switzerland confining, and her marriage above all. She even starts out by describing it as a “little life.” Me, I have always aimed to live a big life, or rather several lives in a row (sometimes slightly overlapping).

Anyway, I liked this book a lot, and it motivated me to write, to be my best writer self. How about you? Have you read anything good lately?