Scan barcode
A review by lindzlovesreading
A Sport And A Pastime by James Salter
4.0
It is a testament to Salter's prose that 'a sport and a pastime' was not a creepy Norman Bates-esque novel. The plot of an older American fantasying and imagining the intimate details of two young lovers in the deep hay stacked heart of France would give that impression that it just might turn that way.
The writing stopped me dead, the last few books I have read were fuelled with a manic energy, action everywhere. But this book with it's short sharp sentences and to the point descriptions, was more a calming mediative read, much like being in rural France in possibly I think the late 1950's maybe early 60's. I had to read this book in silence just absorb every gorgeous metaphor and simile.
The unreliable narrator (and I do love a good unreliable narrator) gives this book added depth, it is more than a boasting playboy American and the French local he seduces, it is the narrator imagining how they actual felt about each other, how they spend their time together, how they have sex. And I do have to say, I liked that the sex was quite fumbley at times, bodies crashing into one another. Bad breath in the morning. The sex scenes were never over blown, always simple and to the point. It was surprisingly refreshing.
Though I do have to say the narrative did smell a little like a French art house film. Think Last Tango in Paris, but Marlin Brando only thinking about other people have sex. Or Bridget Bardot smoking in a bath tub, and never wear pants, while still smoking.
This is a novel that reminds of a time when books could be sparse, to the point and did not have to pad every thing out to a plump 400 pages. This is an exercise of pure writing.
The writing stopped me dead, the last few books I have read were fuelled with a manic energy, action everywhere. But this book with it's short sharp sentences and to the point descriptions, was more a calming mediative read, much like being in rural France in possibly I think the late 1950's maybe early 60's. I had to read this book in silence just absorb every gorgeous metaphor and simile.
The unreliable narrator (and I do love a good unreliable narrator) gives this book added depth, it is more than a boasting playboy American and the French local he seduces, it is the narrator imagining how they actual felt about each other, how they spend their time together, how they have sex. And I do have to say, I liked that the sex was quite fumbley at times, bodies crashing into one another. Bad breath in the morning. The sex scenes were never over blown, always simple and to the point. It was surprisingly refreshing.
Though I do have to say the narrative did smell a little like a French art house film. Think Last Tango in Paris, but Marlin Brando only thinking about other people have sex. Or Bridget Bardot smoking in a bath tub, and never wear pants, while still smoking.
This is a novel that reminds of a time when books could be sparse, to the point and did not have to pad every thing out to a plump 400 pages. This is an exercise of pure writing.