Less is Lost by Andrew Sean Greer: A review

When I read the first book about this character in 2018, entitled simply Less, I loved it and him. Apparently, my tastes have changed somewhat since then because, in this latest entry, I often found him quite irritating and didn't like him so much. I still mostly enjoyed reading about his misadventures, but I sometimes got quite impatient with him, and, in the end, debated with myself about what rating to give.

Arthur Less, as we meet him this time, is in a committed if somewhat fraught relationship with his lover, Freddy Peleu. Things are going well for him professionally as well. He has achieved some moderate success as a novelist and the future suddenly looks if not rosy at least a light shade of pink. But with Arthur, disaster is always just around the corner, and as he sees it peeking around that corner, he decides to take action.

He has been offered a series of literary gigs that will take him on an extensive tour of the country and provide funds to alleviate his current financial crisis. He decides to accept the proposal and so off he goes, traveling in a rusty camper van named Rosina. He meets an ever-changing cast of writerly characters along the way and takes on a black pug named Dolly who will be his constant companion.

Arthur's journey begins in what he calls the "mild, mild West" and continues through the South and finally up the Atlantic Coast. Along the way he grows a handlebar mustache and begins dressing in the bolero and cowboy hat costume of his idea of a true "Unitedstatesian." His disguise is not entirely successful, however, as he continues to be mistaken as either the wrong writer or a Dutchman.

His travels lead to encounters with his estranged father and with his own personal demons. What he learns along the way is that he can never escape himself.

As with the first novel in the series, Greer tells this story with a light touch and a lot of humor. There were instances of laugh-out-loud moments as Arthur continually gets himself into seemingly impossible-to-escape situations. But he is undaunted. In spite of everything, he perseveres, determined to dig himself out of his financial hole and to live his best life. Okay, maybe I do sort of like Arthur after all.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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