I have trouble keeping in mind the word
best when considering the writings of Annie Proulx, unless I am to paraphrase
Macbeth, "If it (a Proulx work) were
read when 'tis
read, then 'twere
best it were
read quickly."
A friend, having dissected
Shipping News in her reading group, sent me a copy. It's the only Proulx book I've read. I've glanced through others, but couldn't be bothered.
An excellent critique of modern fashionable literature is B.R. Myers'
A Reader's Manifesto. Myers wrote a representative article for the July/August issue of
The Atlantic Monthly; a portion of the article can be seen at
A Reader's Manifesto.
Most of the article is available only to
Atlantic subscribers, but here is a bit of what Myers has to say of Annie Proulx, from the much he had to say about her work.
"... Of course, one can hardly blame Proulx for thinking, "If it ain't broke, why fix it?" Her novel
Postcards (1992) received the PEN/Faulkner Award;
The Shipping News won both the National Book Award and a Pulitzer Prize. Her writing, like that of so many other novelists today, is touted as "evocative" and "compelling." The reason these vague attributes have become the literary catchwords of our time, even more popular than "raw" and "angry" were in the 1950s, is that they allow critics to praise a writer's prose without considering its effect on the reader. It is easier to call writing like Proulx's lyrically evocative or poetically compelling than to figure out what it evokes, or what it compels the reader to think and feel. How can
Close RangeThe New York Times the critic Richard Eder quoted with approval a flashy excerpt from
Close Range about a car trip that the characters themselves do not appear to find remarkable at all.) Proulx's sentences are often praised for having a life of their own: they "dance and coil, slither and pounce" (K. Francis Tanabe,
The Washington Post), "every single sentence surprises and delights and just bowls you over" (Carolyn See,
The Washington Post), a Proulx sentence "whistles and snaps" (Dan Cryer,
Newsday). In 1999 Tanabe kicked off the Post's online discussion of Proulx's work by asking participants to join him in "choosing your favorite sentence(s) from any of the stories in
Close Range." I doubt that any reviewer in our more literate past would have expected people to have favorite sentences from a work of prose fiction. A favorite character or scene, sure; a favorite line of dialogue, maybe; but not a favorite sentence. We have to read a great book more than once to realize how consistently good the prose is, because the first time around, and often even the second, we're too involved in the story to notice. If Proulx's fiction is so compelling, why are its fans more impressed by individual sentences than by the whole?"