Atmosphere

Extremely fatigued though not as dispirited as last night. Was up most of the night, either caring for the little one or reading Bel Canto. Yes, the book has grown on me. It was ridiculous of me not to sleep more last night, but I must admit that I've gotten swept up in the novel to some extent. Patchett took on a difficult topic and handled it, for the most part, skillfully.

One weakness in the story: none of the adult characters ever argue or fight with each other, even though they are either hostages or hostage-takers. In fact her characters feel, for the most part, rather two-dimensional and predictable. But she does know how to create an atmosphere. (A very unusual atmosphere at that: the scene is that of a large group of very diverse people being held hostage at an embassy in some unidentified Latin American country.) I suppose I'm reading it mostly for the atmosphere. It's a "poetic" text in that way--very thin plot, weak characters, strong setting.

In an earlier post I wondered out loud if the era of novels had come to a close. I felt as if we were satisfying our need for stories through other media--films, television, the Internet and so forth. But perhaps the real problem (did I touch on this in that earlier post?) is, the canvas on which a novelist needs to create, if their novel will speak to any sort of contemporary audience, has to be almost impossibly wide--has to cover a vast range of experiences and outlooks, to seem real to us in this media-saturated society.

Perhaps. Or perhaps the correct impulse is to move in the other direction: to paint on an impossibly small canvas.

Whatever the answer is, right now I need to go crash into my bed...once again, so tired that the world is spinning before my eyes.