Three books I’ve read recently:
Other People’s Trades by Primo Levi, translated by Raymond Rosenthal. I have more to write about Levi, who notably was imprisoned (enslaved? abused? treated as utterly disposable?) at the Monowitz Buna factory — a synthetic rubber factory, the first of its kind, located in the Auschwitz complex. This book, though, was relatively quick to read and digest. Built out of a collection of columns he published in Italian newspapers in the later half of the twentieth century, Other People’s Trades is not, as its title might suggest, an anthropological or ethnographic study of labor. Levi’s writing here resembles foremost that of a commentator, looking out at the world from inside his own mind. He spends considerable time reflecting on his childhood, and his occupation, and then in maybe a third of the book he turns to an industry with which he has some curiosity but not much (any?) first-hand knowledge. In this way Other People’s Trades is filled with the kind of writing one sees regularly on the internet, and it takes some work for a modern reader (or, it took some work for me) to remember that Levi didn’t have access to Wikipedia, and JSTOR, and for that matter ChatGPT to give him hints about entomology, or linguistics, or whatever other topic he wanted to expound upon for a few thousands words. My favorite part of the book appears in the introduction:
The essays collected here...are the fruit of my roaming about as a curious dilettante for more than a decade. They are ‘invasions of the field’, incursions into other people’s trades, poachings in private hunting preserves, forays into the boundless territories of zoology, astronomy, and linguistics: sciences which I have never studied systematically and which, for just this reason, affect me with the durable fascination of unsatisfied and unrequited loves, and excite my instincts as a voyeur and kibitzer.
Eastbound by Maylis de Kerangal; translated by Jessica Moore. I found this book on the steps of the Coignet building, which I mentioned in a piece in 2021 and which still stands, unsold and partially restored, across the street from a large converted factory that apparently houses the offices of a not-for-profit press which is “devoted to publishing excellent translations of classic and contemporary world literature.” I am not in the habit of picking books up off the street, but something about this one grabbed me, and when I found myself on a three-hour flight to Miami a few weeks later with no kids and no desire to purchase wifi, I grabbed it back — and spent the next hour and a half hanging on as it shot me across most of continental Asia, turning page after furious, breathless page until the compact and engrossing story inside of it was exhausted. I was captivated with Eastbound — a novella which describes the brief and intense intersection of a few people’s lives. I found its writing especially enjoyable; it complemented the story’s ample tension perfectly.
Need for the Bike by Paul Fournel; translated by Allan Stoekl. This book was nearly as short as Eastbound, and was constructed out of even smaller pieces than Other People’s Trades. The author is, I have learned, a member of Oulipo, “a loose gathering of (mainly) French-speaking writers and mathematicians who seek to create works using constrained writing techniques.” At times this book’s form feels distinctly like the thing which is driving it forward. But also, Fournel clearly loves bikes, and finds things to write about them that are at some moments personal and idiosyncratic, and at others inviting and energetic. Fournel expounds his opinions as if they should be gospel, and while many of his thoughts on French cycling culture are admittedly lost on me, I found multiple opportunities to relate to him strongly — most notably his recommendation that people who are not employed as professional athletes (which is to say, basically all of us) should, at some point in their lives, find a way to inhabit their bodies fully, devoting serious energy their sport or movement and then taking the time to appreciate the way preparation and physical action blend merge into a thoughtless, transcendent experience.
Of these three books, the one which I found most compelling was Eastbound. It did something that I didn’t expect, and it did it urgently and without caring whether I was prepared for it. It sucked me entirely into its tiny, paperbound cover, and then pushed and dragged me around inside itself.
Recently I have been thinking of Ben Thompson’s definition of a subscription business model, which hinges upon “the consistent delivery of well-defined value.” As a writer, my abilities are rather inconsistent; I am not, as Fournel would say, “in shape” as a writer, capable of seamlessly jumping into action and delivering well-defined value to readers. I’m also not in the habit of the kind of formalistic experimentation that Eastbound employs, and am unsure how one would employ de Kerangal’s immediacy and breathlessness in the kind of semi-technical nonfiction which SOW is known for. That said, I think it’s incumbent upon me to make more attempts at it, and generally to spend more time reading — and reflecting upon what I’ve read, as I’ve done here in about 800 words.