I’ve been struggling for a while to put into words what I think is going on in the third section of Forrest Gander‘s slim, remarkable novel As a Friend.

The book is broken into four sections. In section one, Les—the book’s subject—is born. In section two, Clay—a friend—talks about the events that led up to his betrayal of Les. In section four, we read comments made by Les, outtakes from a film someone was making about him.

The birth section is an overture—character comes to life and book comes to life at the same time. A moment on the book’s timeline and its consequences.

The Clay section is a look at this remarkable person. Les is a land surveyor and a poet. He is an out-sized individual. Clay is gives readers a longer timeline—Les over the years Clay knew him. It’s also past tense. Clay has some perspective on Les’s life and his death. (Les commits suicide after Clay betrays him by telling Les’s wife about his relationship with another woman.) READ MORE >

It’s nearly midnight here in Seattle and it’s time for me to do a little synthesizin’.

A while ago, Sam Pink asked:

how important are physcial descriptions of characters and do they ever work? it seems like whenever someone describes a character, i have less of an understanding of what they look like. and when someone doesn’t describe the character, i just supplement with my own understanding.

Five days later, Blake wrote a little piece about Joe Brainard’s book I Remember.

About 22 pages into I Remember is this section:

I remember Anne Kepler. She played the flute. I remember her straight shoulders. I remember her large eyes. Her slightly roman nose. And her full lips. I remember an oil painting I did of her playing the flute. Several years ago she died in a fire giving a flute concert at a children’s home in Brooklyn. All the children were saved. There was something about her like white marble.

I liked that little piece and made a little mental note of it. But what I like about it is not Brainard’s description of her face. It’s this: “There was something about her like white marble.” It’s an intangible description of her physicality. It allows the active imaginative participation of the reader in a way that asking us to imagine her “slightly roman nose” doesn’t.

I’m all for a bit of physical description, don’t get me wrong. But I prefer that last bit. I prefer a description that includes the individual’s demeanor beyond the strictly physical. “Something about her like white marble,” might be about how pale she is. It might be about her face and neck being free of blemish. It might just be about the passivity of her face. Her stoicism. It might be about her posture. The way she looks at you. The way she ignores you.