The Story of Harold: What the Hell, Pt. II

Reading Terry Andrews' The Story of Harold has left me rather discombobulated, and, simultaneously, eager to re-read all the George Selden books I cherished when I was a child -- and to never, ever look at them again.

The battle has already been lost, however: I'm already re-reading The Genie of Sutton Place.

I finished reading Andrews' novel about sex, death, and drinking Scotch while attending a wedding in the Adirondacks this past weekend. Notarius and I hauled ourselves up to this tiny resort town, which was mostly shut down for the year (McDonald's was "closed for the season" -- has anyone else ever heard of such a thing? a McDONALD'S that's open SEASONALLY?), and we spent some time celebrating the nuptials of dear relatives, yes, but we also spent a fair amount of time hanging around our hotel room, which meant that I read while Notarius cruised the cable TV channels to catch up on everything we miss because we don't have cable at home. Fine with me; I just wanted to get this book over and done with anyhow.

Perhaps I would feel differently about it if I had more of a personal interest, shall we say, in anal sex, specifically in fisting; perhaps I would react differently to this novel if I were just male. But I dunno. Miss Edith read the book and came away from it feeling slightly.... soiled.

The Story of Harold is, in many ways, a remarkable document -- certainly an artifact of its time -- and I can honestly say that I have never read anything else quite like it. I would recommend it, even... but the thing is, I cannot imagine who would actually find this an enjoyable book to read. (Let me amend that: I can think of precisely one person I know who would probably enjoy The Story of Harold. And I will send him a note to tell him to read it. But only one out of oh-so-many friends -- that's a statement.) The Story of Harold is an impressive novel that has to be acknowledged as an acquired taste. Perhaps, like Scotch itself, it's just not for everyone, but for those who like this sort of thing....

I'm glad I read it, and I will be glad to return it to the library from whence it came.