I’ve been reading The Adventures of Augie March (1953, Saul Bellow) and finding it hard going. I lose focus as the book does and whilst I’m keen to find out what happens I have to suffer and suffer again as the hapless character is dealt and deals his way through Depression-hit America. It’s compelling but it’s harrowing.
It is then in great contrast to two of Bellow’s later novels. I read Herzog and then Humboldt’s Gift and found them both sparkling. They are alive and manic and energetic as much sinister and dark and helpless. With Augie I can see the bones of these books appearing at times – but they are only bit-part characters in relation to his sumptuous and complete latter day heroes.
Bellow was a genius and one who worked hard at it. Discovering his books is seldom a let-down.
