Big Frank has heard from many saying that this blog has not lived up to its content description. For example, there have been very few book reviews. Big Frank does aim to please, and will be writing book reviews.
(Written in the tones of those baritone-voiced narrators of the previews of coming attractions) “In a world of infinite distractions where time is in short supply there comes a book review for everyone.” These reviews will be modeled after the wonderful collection of book reviews published by Wislawa Szymborska, nonrequired reading, wherein she covers a book in a completely subjective manner using it to skip into whatever strikes her fancy. So the forthcoming entries, for the time being, will be book reviews of the Szymborskan kind.
A prelude: Vladamir Nabokov states that a very good approach to any memoir is to follow themes that present themselves in your life. Which are bona fide and which bogus? I take the position that those that catch your attention are real themes: you see what you should. These can be themes that carry themselves out over long periods of time. They can also be poignant interludes inserted between the longer running pieces. Thus, as Big Frank was sitting outside this morning and pondering this that and the other; he had an epiphany that adherence to truth would carry him through. At this moment a hummingbird flew overhead, immediately followed by the sight of a school bus, and then in the distance a hawk slowly spiraling down upon its prey. These three images (choices from among an infinite number of competing sights, sounds, and smells) were taken in for reasons of their resonating as an interlude that could develop into a theme, or perhaps because they were connected to an unrecognized theme. What is their meaning? That is tied up with the kind of introspection and recall that memoirs explore. Few take the time to write them out in the same detail as Nabokov, but all to some extent create a narrative of their experiences – in many ways that is the “I” that we identify with. The first book review will be of Vladimir Nabokov's superb memoir: Speak Memory.
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A hummingbird, a school bus and a hawk......and the meaning is? It sounds totally random. Like ourlives? Or is there some obscured meaning? Or do we merely like to look for meaning in the randomness of it all? Ponder that Big Frank.
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