Wednesday, December 09, 2009

I can't believe ...

... I had not read this short story (PDF, 4 pages) until last night.
He did not remember when he began to regard the heap of books on his desk with boredom and dread, or when he grew angry at writers for writing them. He did not remember when everything began to remind him of something else.

This is what he remembered. Heat. A baseball field. Yellow grass, the whirr of insects, himself leaning against a tree as the boys of the neighborhood gather for a pickup game.


Thomas G. said...

Great story, thanks for sharing it. I am assuming it is a Tobias Wolfe story. Haven't read him since my school days, oh so long ago. "In the Garden of the North American Martyrs" was always my favorite.

Tom said...

Yes, it is the same author, though I'm pretty sure that his last name is Wolff (with two f's). At least that is how Wikipedia has it, as well as an inetrview with Salon magazine. :)

I'll have to check out the story you mentioned too, thanks for bring it up. :)