Later that night, Maya finds a slip of paper under her door: Maya,
If you’re stuck, reading helps:
"The Beauties" by Anton Chekhov, "The Doll’s House" by Katherine Mansfield, "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" by J. D. Salinger, "Brownies" or "Drinking Coffee Elsewhere" both by ZZ Packer, "In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson Is Buried" by Amy Hempel, "Fat" by Raymond Carver, "Indian Camp" by Ernest Hemingway.
We should have them all downstairs. Just ask if you can’t find anything, though you know where everything is better than I.
Love,
Dad - P178
Mr. Balboni shifts, and his tight, black leather pants squeak. He encourages them to emphasize the positive while at the same time reading with a critical and ideally informed eye. "Well, that sounds like it has evocative description already."
"I’m kidding, Mr. Balboni. I’m trying to move away from anthropomorphizing."
"I’ll look forward to reading it," Mr. Balboni says. - P179
"I think it’s ambiguous," Mr. Balboni says. "Remember last week when we talked about ambiguity?" - P180
Maya sees Mr. Balboni talking to a person who can only be a teacher from another school. She is wearing teacher clothes—a floral dress and a beige cardigan with snowflakes embroidered on it, and she is nodding adamantly at whatever Mr. Balboni is saying. Of course, Mr. Balboni is wearing his leather pants, and because he is out, a leather jacket—basically, a leather suit. - P183
A.J. kisses his daughter on the forehead. He is delighted to have produced such a fantastic nerd. - P196
"You are being so rude," Amelia says. "You can’t put your head in the sand and act like e-readers don’t exist. That’s no way to deal with anything." - P218
"Well, for those of us with husbands who are growing farsighted, and I’m not going to mention any names here. For those of us with husbands who are rapidly becoming middle-aged and losing their vision. For those of us burdened by pathetic half men for spouses—" - P219
Amelia sets down her book to smile smugly at her husband, but when she looks over the man is frozen. A.J. is having one of his episodes. The episodes trouble Amelia, though she reminds herself not to be worried. - P219
"No," A.J. says. "You know I’ve had these since I was a chive."
"A chive?" she asks.
"A child. What did I say?" - P220
"You are the father of Maya. And the love of my life. And a purveyor of culture to this community." - P221
The real gift of the holiday season, A.J. thinks, is that it ends. He likes the routine. He likes making breakfast in the morning. He likes running to work. - P221
He runs past Ismay’s house, which she once shared with Daniel and now shares improbably with Lambiase. He runs past the spot where Daniel died, too. He runs past the old dance studio. What was the dance teacher’s name? He knows she moved to California not too long ago, and the dance studio is empty. He wonders who will teach the little girls of Alice Island to dance? He runs past Maya’s elementary school and past her junior high and past her high school. High school. She has a boyfriend. The Furness boy is a writer. He hears them arguing all the time. He takes a shortcut through a field, and is almost through it to Captain Wiggins Street when he blacks out.
It is twenty-two degrees out, and when he wakes his hand is blue where it had rested on the ice.
He stands and warms his hands on his jacket. He has never passed out in the middle of a run before.
"Madame Olenska," he says. - P222
Why is any one book different from any other book? They are different, A.J. decides, because they are. We have to look inside many. We have to believe. We agree to be disappointed sometimes so that we can be exhilarated every now and again. - P238
The one real fight they’d ever had was over David Foster Wallace. It was around the time of Wallace’s suicide. A.J. had found the reverent tone of the eulogies to be insufferable. The man had written a decent (if indulgent and overlong) novel, a few modestly insightful essays, and not much else.
"Infinite Jest is a masterpiece," Harvey had said.
"Infinite Jest is an endurance contest. You manage to get through it and you have no choice but to say you like it. Otherwise, you have to deal with the fact that you just wasted weeks of your life," A.J. had countered. "Style, no substance, my friend." - P18
"It’s funny that you should mention Infinite Jest. Why did you choose that particular title, by the way?" A.J. says.
"I always see it in the store. It takes up a lot of space on the shelf." - P228
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