01/13/2021
In 2011’s 𝘑𝘪𝘳𝘰 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪,
the documentary’s titular character Jiro Ono says
“In order to make delicious food, you need to eat delicious food. ... Without good taste, you can't make good food.”
It is in that light that as I have begun the process of writing my book, I have sought to continue to read well, and broadly.
𝘈 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘐𝘯 𝘔𝘰𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘸 by admittedly took some time to truly grab my attention; I will admit that through the first 200 or so pages, I didn’t really understand it. By the end, I realized that this was my folly. The time jumps, the sometimes crawling pace that irregularly gives way to a jarring insertion of an event that in most novels, might be a climax built towards for chapters upon chapters. The author could describe a room in all its detail for pages on end, then give a central character an unceremonious ending in a handful of sentences. A reflection of the time period and part of the world in which the book takes place, but also of life. Multiple coming-of-age stories, in different stages and circumstances, a reminder of life’s cruelty and beauty, a period piece that also contains timeless values.
That life is non-linear, nonuniform in its pacing, and that one’s attention can grasp every sliver of a few moments, and also let months slip by with barely a shrug.
Earnestly, I’ve also never read or watched anything in my life that has made me want a daughter more than this novel.
“𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵, 𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳?”
“𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵, 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵.”
Heart melting.
Despite this book’s setting in Russia during some of its most defining years, 𝘈 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘐𝘯 𝘔𝘰𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘸 is ultimately a story about a man and his daughter, and the lengths he will go for that bond.
I’ve included a few of my favorite passages in this review.
A book and its characters leave an imprint on the reader.
I know that the next time I’m in a grand hotel, or in some small moments as a father someday,
I will think of you, Alexander ilyich Rostov.