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The Stones of Summer: A Yeoman's Notes 1942-1969
I have read this book three times in the last few months. It is a difficult, very complicated book. In fact it is perhaps one of the most detailed and intricate books I have ever read and in many ways more dense than The Forty Days of Musa Dagh or Ulysses or Beloved. The first time through was a murky muddy read, and I must admit I almost put it away on several occasions. The second time through however, and the pieces began to fit together, and the bulkiness of Mossman's writing style was no longer a hindrance. The third time through and I must say that I think I truly understand what Mossman was trying to do, and there is no other way to put it, but this is perhaps one of the greatest works ever written. One might argue that for a work to be great it should be great from the first read, and that it shouldn't take three or four reads. Well, I guess there is some truth in that, however, I guess the best analogy would be with jazz music. How many of us who are used to listening to easy music would appreciate the abstract complexities of Ornette Coleman or John Cotraine the first time through? Some of Coltrain's runs are so abstract and are played with such speed that truly one would have to be a musician in order to appreciate what he is doing with only one listen. And I truly believe it is the same with The Stones of Summer. This book is so good that, simply put, it is beyond good. It is in the realm of pure art. It is saddening to think that many of the reviewers would only read the first twenty pages of something this bulky and awesome, and then capriciously come to the conclusion that it is only worth being a "doorstop." The voice of Dawes Williams is such a powerful American voice, and in the first twenty pages the surface hasn't even been scratched yet. It is true you must be an advanced reader to read this book - or at least be willing to become an advanced reader. Is this elitism? Maybe a little. But it seems a little ridiculous to buy a hard book and then turn around when you realize you are out of your league to complain that it should be a "doorstop." If you can't take the heat, stick to Michael Connelly or Stephen King, or if these are too difficult, try the next installment of Jackie Collins.
The Stones of Summer: A Yeoman's Notes 1942-1969
I think this book has been adequately reviewed here. Most of the time I would say that any book that generates this kind of feedback is worth reading. I am unsure whether this book is worth reading. I must admit that I was disappointed.But I think I was disappointed because of the hype. It is rare in our culture that literature gets any recognition at all in our society. I saw the Stone Reader guy on the Today show of all places. He convinced me not only to read the book, but also to look forward to reading a lost American treasure.This book is no treasure - see above and below. The only thing I'll add to the the reviews is that I never seemed to care very much about the characters, no matter what happened to them. I never got to know them. And at time overwritten? Yes, I found myself occasionally skipping paragraphs, which I never, ever do.But I think the acerbic responses here are partly due to intelligent readers feeling duped by effective marketing and one guy's enthusiasm. If I had stumbled upon this book on my own, I wouldn't have loved it but I wouldn't have thought it was worthless either. Simply put, it has the faults of many first novels.Read this book if you want. You may like it. Some readers here definitely did. But I have to admit that I was glad to see some of these sanctimonius reviewers feeling duped - they make a lot of effort here to seem superior.
The Stones of Summer: A Yeoman's Notes 1942-1969
Every serious reader of serious literature has personal favorites that aren't accepted in the general canon...which may even be hard to defend on conventional critical grounds. I myself love Luke Rhinehart's "The Dice Man" and Jean Stafford's "The Catherine Wheel"--novels that (among many others) have a certain cult following but otherwise haven't really gained any stature with time, or managed to stay in print.This is offered as preamble to another (mostly) negative review of Dow Mossman's long-out-of-print magnum opus (his only opus, in fact). The documentary "Stone Reader" created extraordinary expectations around this epic debut, because the filmmaker's enthusiasm about it and finding its creator after 30 years was so inspirationally passionate.So, it turns out "Stones" (which I happened to get in a first edition hardcover from a local library system--but only because all the recent reprints were checked out) is one of those garrulous, unfocused, under-structured gasps of "writerly" excess that were not uncommon in the 60s and early 70s. Back then those qualities were taken for evidence of unfettered creativity. When they occur now (see: David Foster Wallace), they can signify the same, or just an editor who's asleep at the wheel. (The latter is apparently an industry-wide problem at present--and the brilliant but undisciplined Foster Wallace is its worst-case-scenario.)"The Stones of Summer" is the sound of a youthful writer in love with the propulsion and lilt of his own words. Those qualities don't necessarily translate for a reader, however, and there's no question that the forced lyricism and digressive indulgence here overwhelm whatever small narrative force/character-psychological insight Mossman has to offer. Barely a sentence passes without the author describing something simple as "like" something meaninglessly fancier--"the sun dying before them like the insides of a stone melon, split and watery, halving with blood," to quote from the book's very first paragraph. All this filigree comes at the cost of anything more involving. The author doesn't seem much interested in direct reader contact, anyhow. He's too busy trying to dazzle us.That said, "Stones" reveals a genuine writer--too bad he never got further chances to hone his craft. For all its indulgence, the bloated, barely interesting novel still suggests Mossman might've created great things had he stuck to it--and had the publishing industry stood behind him after this first critically-acclaimed, commercially-dire effort.
The Stones of Summer: A Yeoman's Notes 1942-1969
I'm tired of reading of people who "saw the movie and couldn't WAIT to read the book..." The book stands apart from the documentary and they have absolutely nothing to do with each other.To judge this novel based on what 'Stone Reader' fans think would be a crime. 'Stone Reader' is a love letter to all literature, to be shared with all people who love to read. 'Stones of Summer,' on the other hand, is not for everyone; it is a book of ideas and will be treasured by those who love ideas, and by those who will not be scared away after a mere 100 pages.Easily one of the best books I've ever read. But don't create expectations that have anything to do with the 'Stone Reader' documentary.
The Stones of Summer: A Yeoman's Notes 1942-1969
I loved the review that listed the 5 worst written sentences in this book. I got my own copy and underlined 5 others that are just as bad. Here they are.1. Dawes thought she was at her most attractive when she was irritated--lips pursed, cheeks flushed, and eyes flashing, though not so much like lightening flashing as like a spark of static electricity from touching a fluffy cat after shuffling across plush carpet in a cold, dark room.2. He shifted uncomfortably on his stool looking at the topless blonde bombshell on the bar, but the first thing that struck him was the pulchritude of the exotic dancer's lips, which glowed like maraschino cherries, that is, pitted cherries macerated in an almond-flavored syrup then heated to boiling in an alum-containing brine full of carcinogenic red dyes3. She lay next to him that night, regretting sleeping with another while they were broken up, knowing she had done nothing wrong but feeling vaguely unclean, like freshly washed, once-folded laundry that has been shoved off the bed onto the floor and slept on by the dog.4. Dawes lay in bed musing at the slight wrinkles in the down comforter was attracted to her like a moth to a flame - not just any moth, but one of the giant silk moths of the genus Hyalophora, perhaps Hyalophora euryalus, whose great red-brown wings with white basal and postmedian lines flap almost languorously until one ignites in the flame, fanning the conflagration to ever greater heights until burning down to the hirsute thorax and abdomen, the fat-laden contents of which provide a satisfying sizzle to end the agony.5. Which like waves in a gently wind-blown semi-calm sea heaved gently as she moved her legs under the cover and alternately wiggled her toes, causing a rogue ripple to course across the bed and die against the shore of the pillow.
The Stones of Summer: A Yeoman's Notes 1942-1969
Reading this novel was like swimming upside down in a vat of peanut oil. Everything seems like it's inverted and moving in slow motion. If a book were ever measured by its weight, then Stones of Summer would be a masterpiece. Unfortunately, you may want to read the book. Once you open it and try to sit down to enjoy it, you realize you are not reading a masterpiece, but instead a long-winded, boring tale about characters that you really could care less about. I really want to meet the person who has read this all the way to the end. He/she probably also competes in "iron man" triathalons and peruses the tax code for pleasure. The most torturous element of the book is the collection of wholly unlikeable characters. By the middle of the book I didn't care what happened to any of them - in fact I would have liked the book more if they had all died in a fiery car crash.