My Problem with Tom Robbins

It dawned on me this morning while I was sitting, idling time away before I was required to leave for work that Even Cowgirls Get the Blues is taking me a lot longer than it should. It’s not a terribly difficult book to read: if you majored in literature. There. I said it. I’m maybe being a little pretentious, just a little. But it also occurred to me that I enjoy this book because it completely messes with the structure of traditional, fictional composition. Do not get me wrong, he is an amazing author, an extremely versatile author, and a beautiful writer. And there are these moments where Robbins shows that he knows what’s up with the human condition, and puts little quips that make you believe he might actually want you to lose yourself in his ridiculous peacock-ing. Robbins consistently breaks the threshold between author and reader, wanting you to know that the author is real; this book is a production of human hands.

Review: Super Sad True Love Story

Yes, I know. This is terribly overdue. And, I haven’t even been keeping up with my August Break project. Bad blogger. Bad writer. You could even go so far as to call me a bad reader, seeing as how it has taken me quite some time to get through 85 pages of Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. It’s almost as if reading a whole book would seem daunting after working 6 days a week. I tell myself I will read, but then I always find an excuse to look at stuff online, or get caught up on my overwhelmed Hulu queue. Bad reader. Anyways, I am using this terribly slow Monday at work to do my review of Super Sad True Love Story.

Overall, I really did love this book. This book was recommended to me by a professor of mine a couple years ago. Upon going to a meeting to discuss my re-write for my essay on Heart of Darkness, we soon ended up discussing my goals with my degree, etc. I confessed that a world in which people no longer read books would be my ultimate dystopia, and fear. She immediately told me to read SSTLS, because it grapples with that same problem. Three years later, I finally read it, devoured it, despised it, feared its honesty, and respected its complexity.