
As you probably know by now, I'm a huge Tom Robbins fan. I'm tempted to wax poetic about why that is, but I think the following quote from this interview he did sums it up quite nicely:
"What I try to do, among other things, is to mix fantasy and
spirituality, sexuality, humor and poetry in combinations that have
never quite been seen before in literature. And I guess when a reader
finishes one of my books -- provided the reader does finish the book --
I would like for him or her to be in the state that they would be in
after a Fellini film or a Grateful Dead concert. Which is to say that
they've encountered the lifeforce in a large, irrepressible and
unpredictable way and as a result their sense of wonder has been
awakened and all of their possibilities have been expanded.
At the same time, I don't think that a novel is supposed to be a guide
book to happiness any more than it's supposed to be a journal of one's
personal pain and frustration, which most novels are today,
unfortunately. I think the novels that are most important are those
that are more on the order of those coyotes that howl on the hills
outside of town. Something mysterious and wild and hypnotic."
I've decided not to do a proper review of this book per se. It's easy
enough to find a million scholarly critiques and plot summaries of it online, as
the novel is now 20 years old. I thought, rather, I'd share my experience
of the book itself with you, particularly as objects seemingly
disappearing and reappearing is such a big theme of the story.
I had a copy of Skinny Legs and All
sitting on a shelf in my childhood home since I was twelve or so. But I confess it remained unread for years - for though I loved Still Life with Woodpecker
and Jitterbug Perfume
with a fierce passion, this particular tome always seemed a bit intimidating in both girth (it's 422 pages) and subject matter (it's about, well, the history of religion, conflict in the Middle East, the purpose of art, and the many veils of illusion that make up our so-called "reality." In a nutshell).
Fast forward to last year, when the book was referenced in another book I was reading, and it struck me that it was high time I tackled the thing. Next time I was home visiting my parents however (now in a different house), Skinny Legs and All was nowhere to be found. Sure, I could have bought a new copy, but it irked me to buy something which I knew I already owned. I promised myself that next time I visited I would look even harder, and go through the attic boxes and closet crates where surely the book must have ended up in the move.
Fast forward again a few months later to Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn, where I found myself drawn to a tiny used bookshop I had never seen before, and felt compelled to enter. And it was here where a) The book popped in my head and I searched for it on the shelf to no avail b) A group of college kids came in moments later, and I overheard them looking for another Tom Robbins book (Jitterbug Perfume), which struck me as uncannily synchronistic and c) Just before leaving the shop, I walked over to the chaotic pile of unshelved books and, well, you know what happens next. Yes, lo and behold, crammed in one of the teetering stacks on the floor was a beaten up version of this book with its original cover (not the fancy reprint they sell now), exactly like the one I'd had as a kid. Feeling exhilarated, I paid my $4, and took the book back to my apartment.
Fast forward to last night, when I stayed up late to finish it, as I quite literally could not bring myself to put it down. Because it is so entertaining, and truthful, and bizarre, and utterly important. And way way way too much fun.
And, yes, when it was over, I did feel exactly how Robbins hoped: in a state of euphoria and bedazzlement. And also, I experienced of that rare sense of belonging that one receives when one encounters a work of art that is at once inspiring and totally reaffirming. I wish I could photocopy the last 15 pages or so, and make everyone on earth read them. But then, perhaps not everyone is ready for that yet. Perhaps it's best appearing right when one needs it and ready to receive its madcap wisdom and serious joy.
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