Friday, March 1, 2019

Books that made me / Tom Rachman / ‘Does every author read faster than I do?’

Books

that

made me

Tom Rachman: ‘Does every author read faster than I do?’

The author on his love for short stories, crying at Curious George and why he no longer feels he must finish ‘great’ books

Tom Rachman

Friday 1 March 2019

The book I am currently reading

When asked this question, writers often list 493 books, all on their (apparently capacious) bedside tables. Of the 493, I’ve typically heard of two. Which raises questions. 1) Am I an ignoramus? 2) Does every author read faster than I do? My list is two-and-a-half books long. First, Masha Gessen’s The Man Without a Face, about Putin. Second, Martin Amis’s essay collection The Rub of Time. Last, Daniel Deronda by George Eliot, for which I’m crediting myself only a half-book, since I’ve been in a troubled relationship with it for a year. We keep getting back together. I know it won’t work. But I can’t end it.

The book that changed my life

While I was studying cinema at university, Elie Wiesel published a memoir, All Rivers Run to the Sea, about surviving the Nazi death camps and his subsequent blossoming as a reporter and novelist. I was so moved, underlining passages throughout. My dreams of film-making receded; I wanted to try writing. Years later, I met Wiesel briefly, and discovered how hard it is to convey to a stranger what he has meant to you.

The book that had the greatest influence on me

Any collection of George Orwell’s essays that includes Politics and the English Language and Why I Write. The first essay taught me how to identify blather, and that clarity is a form of courage. The second – with its confession to the petty motives behind writing alongside the noble ones – encouraged me to be frank, even if facing scorn for it.

The book I’m most ashamed not to have read

Books are a poor cause for shame when there are so many better places to apply it. Still, I panicked before one of my first public readings, fearing that the audience might spontaneously quiz me on great works I’d never read. This nightmare never materialised because an audience hardly materialised, just one rickety couple in the last row, she stage-whispering: “Walter, wake up – the young man’s talking!” I’m less frantic about my literary gaps now. In a lifetime, one has only so many books, which is good reason to never feel shame at quitting them when deserving multitudes still await.

The book I think is most underrated

An entire form as underrated: the short story. So few prominent publications bother with them anymore, though they seem ideally suited to our diminished attention spans. I dream of starting a free culture newspaper, handed out at train stations, and including one topical short story per edition. Billionaires who don’t mind losing their entire investment should get in touch.

The book that changed my mind

My adulthood started in the 1990s, when the west was still pleased with itself. Free-market ideals appeared both triumphant and moral. Unthinkingly, I shared these assumptions. Tony Judt’s Ill Fares the Land showed how shallow I’d been. Our vanity was underpinned by vice – self-interest, above all. This has aged into real ugliness. Sadly, Judt didn’t age with us, dying in 2010, the year this book came out. I wish he were here to explain 2019.

The last book that made me cry

Curious George and the Firefighters by Margret and HA Rey. I love reading to my son, but some books challenge parental devotion. As if the 41,938th reading wasn’t enough to bring me to tears, he inadvertently poked it in my eye.

The book I couldn’t finish

I once read an interview with Gabriel García Márquez in which he declared himself too old to keep finishing books that he didn’t like. His admission became my permission, and I started stopping. If you want names, here are just a few of the reportedly great books I’ve broken up with: Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace, Underworld by Don DeLillo, Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon.

My earliest reading memory

My first memory of reading is of not reading. Everyone in my family devoured books. I, the youngest, felt like a dunce. In foggy memory, I recall a copy of James and the Giant Peach. And Dickens on tape, although you might not count that reading. Only in my mid-teens did I discover the bliss of books, and haven’t stopped since.

The book I give as a gift

I should buy Orwell’s essays in bulk; I’m always giving them away. Not just for the two pieces mentioned earlier, but also “Killing an Elephant” and “Such, Such Were the Joys” and “A Hanging” and “Notes on Nationalism.” His observations endure, while his ability to face unpleasant facts is a tonic in self-deceived times.

The book I’d most like to be remembered for

Although my debut, The Imperfectionists, is better known, another of my novels means more to me, The Rise and Fall of Great Powers. Is its obscurity why I hold it dear? It’s as if you have had one child who is shunned, so you grow especially protective, hoping that someday others might see in them what you do.

• The Italian Teacher by Tom Rachman is published in paperback by Riverrun.

THE GUARDIAN