Some buildings transcend their mere construction to become larger-than-life symbols of their locations. Think the Empire State Building, the Sydney Opera House or the Burj Khalifa. But the Eiffel Tower stands out from the pack because of its 19th-century age—and its legacy as one of the world’s most replicated structures.
When I get dressed, I become a philosopher-king—not in the sense of presiding over utopia, but in the sense of trying to marry politics and intellect in the perfect imitation of God. Political considerations might include: destination, company, self-image, self-regard, in-group and out-group arrangements. The intellectual ones might involve: the weather, the way I am always too cold no matter the weather, the subway, the blisters on my feet, the laundry. When I get dressed, I have never once considered whether to add a belt. Belts have never struck me as a thing to “add”; pants either need a belt or they don’t. But some girls like to “add” one, and that’s fine too. I do consider the area where a belt might go—that stretch of midsection where the top of my pants meets the bottom of my shirt. It means a lot (to me), where exactly on my body that convergence takes place. If it’s lower, say a few inches below my belly button, I might get slouchier when I stand around, might remember being a kid in the early aughts, and I might in general feel more weighed down by the pull of gravity. If it’s higher up on my torso, I sit up straighter in my chair, I prefer a more substantial shoe, I feel more compact, more professional, more like my mother.
Jessica Anthony's new novel, The Most, blindsided me with its power, much like the cunning tennis strategy from which it gets its title. I don't say this often, but this superb short novel, about a marriage at its breakpoint, deserves to become a classic.
Better that a book is unapologetically itself, and A Little Trickerie is lovable, fun and emotionally juicy.