Boil Down

Eventually, an answer.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been doing something I don’t usually do, which is to read new and newish fiction. One book I read so I could review it in the Times. One I read because it was written by someone I have known for a while. One I read because someone I didn’t know at all in a restaurant, was raving about it to a tablemate. It was interesting to chart the types and amounts of thoughts required in each case. The book I read to review, I had to process assiduously, of course. I had to, or else resign the assignment, so I took notes about plot and structure and character and style. The book written by my friendquaintance, I had softer thoughts about. The tablemate recommendation drifted through a weekend afternoon like an aroma. What’s interesting isn’t the difference, only, but the fact that the relative pleasures of these approaches has shifted. At first I liked the idea of the first approach. Why not give a book your full attention? Later, I favored reading with personal affection, and finally it occurred to me that maybe the best course was to read without any structured reaction at all, just let it take you where it wants to go. Who knows? Anyway, it has resulted in different kinds of writing as well. I have written some longer pieces, lengthy stories that might turn into books. And I have written some shorter ones that might turn back into blank paper.

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HEADING FOR THE COUNTY LINE

“Mama,” says Francine’s daughter, “you’re always driving like you’re driving a getaway car.” Francine laughs and remembers the old days, when that was exactly what she had been doing. [©2026 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas]