Cunningham, Michael. The Hours (1998). New York: Picador, 2002.

I'm teaching this book later in the summer, decided by wanting to teach a novel, wanting something contemporary, and wanting something if not written by a gay novelist than at least exploring queer issues. This one's got all those and a bunch of awards. It's also been made into a movie (starring Meryl Streep, which is weird because Streep herself actually appears (maybe...it could also be Vanessa Redgrave; the character isn't sure) early on in the novel), which makes me nervous for new college students not wanting to read an entire novel. I read it in two nights; it's a breeze.

I've got very little to say about it at this point, as I'm about to run off and catch a flight. Maybe I'll try to write a blurb for the book, as if it were 1997, and Cunningham or Jonathan Galassi, his editor, asked me to lend credence to his forthcoming novel. Here goes. I've never written one of these before:

Cunningham is a good writer. I like how long he can spend in characters' heads. I've never read Virginia Woolf [which would have been true back in 1997] but I felt like I didn't have to to like this book. Kudos to him.

That's not very good. No wonder they never called.

You should read this book because its moments of stillness are rendered with such stunning dramatic weight. It's a book that says all lives are filled with poignancy. Really lovely, just about everywhere.

I wonder what my mother thought of it.