A review by marshamudpuddle
A Sport and a Pastime, by James Salter
slow-paced
3.5
I was fascinated by how this layered desire on top of desire, dream on top of dream. We have a (fictional, so himself imaginary) narrator, who on an imagined trip around rural France imagines a couple he meets (that is, he is imagining imagining them); within this imagined reality he then imagines them having an affair (so, imagining imagining imagining them), an affair which is full of erotic desire, itself a kind of imagination. This gives the whole thing a very dreamy, desirous feeling, but it also makes it hard to really grasp, as a novel: it is like trying to clutch smoke.
The novel is also about a disappearing idea of the ‘real France’, itself something that only ever existed in the imagination. It has a lot of beautiful writing in it. Yet, I didn’t truly love it, because I never found anything solid to hold onto: none of the characters felt real (a deliberate effect, I’m sure), there is no real plot, and there are only so many times a sex scene can hold your attention if it doesn’t have any real stakes to it.
The novel is also about a disappearing idea of the ‘real France’, itself something that only ever existed in the imagination. It has a lot of beautiful writing in it. Yet, I didn’t truly love it, because I never found anything solid to hold onto: none of the characters felt real (a deliberate effect, I’m sure), there is no real plot, and there are only so many times a sex scene can hold your attention if it doesn’t have any real stakes to it.