Cram it in the Dirt

I am from Wyoming, where you spend countless hours worrying about weight. Weight is fuel, is energy, is gas and effort. What’s the equation? Work equals force times distance. My brothers worry about their packs. They subsist on dried meat and energy bars for days on end as they hunt. And everything, I mean everything, has a place in their backpacks. From the binoculars to the amount of toilet paper they carry. But because they are human they have human brains, and the human brain needs distraction.

They carry books.

Not whole books though. They cut books up. Chop them into sections. Not for some artistic reason; the reason is entirely practical. If everybody carries a chunk of the book they can carry the whole. It is kind of beautiful.

I, however, don’t travel on mountains.

I do, however, travel on legs just the same.

I worry about weight. I obsess about it. I know exactly what is in my bag at all times, a toothbrush and toothpaste, two pens, in case one doesn’t work, four sheets of paper, matches, tobacco in case of crisis, a rubber band and a plastic bag in case it rains. That’s all, that is, and a book.

I don’t cut books up though. I prefer to read shorter novels, paperback novels, novels that can fit in my pocket because I don’t always carry a bag.

But there aren’t that many. And for a reason. The reason is foolish. Money and pride. Most people that publish books want to make money, money only, and most writers want to write big books because they think it makes them legitimate. Like if you can write a huge novel it means you are a good writer. This is nonsense. I can talk as fast as I can, and spit as many words out of my mouth that there are, but it doesn’t give weight to my idea; it is just a bunch of noise.

I should probably expound on this, but I already bored myself. Oofa meg, as the Norwegians say.

But instead, listen to me, how about this? Here is a list of good books you should shove in the hole of your trajectory:

1. Closely Observed Trains, Bohumil Hrabal
A story about a fancy butt.

2. Too Loud a Solitude, Bohumil Hrabal
A man in love with books.

3. Tortilla Flat, John Steinbeck
Danny and his friends come back from the war.

4. Miami Blues, Charles Willeford
A detective gets his teeth pulled out.

5. All Quiet On the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
The futility of war.

6. The Road, Cormac McCarthy
A man and his kid live in the scariest world you can think of.

7. Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk
A crazy dude makes soap.

8. If This is a Man, Primo Levi
Unbelievable. Heart breaking.

9. The Reawakening, Primo Levi
A man sells his holocaust clothes for food.

10. The Stranger, Albert Camus
A guy shoots another guy and shit happens.

And also Georges Simonon, and anything by Agatha Christie and this book More Beer by Jacob Arjouni, and a so many others I can‘t remember.

I know you didn’t ask, but these are life changing books that can fit in your pocket. They are beautiful in their brevity. Had they been longer, I think they would have destroyed their point.

I don’t have anything against longer novels, necessarily, and The Tin Drum is awesome but Gone With the Wind is crap, and I think they explore the same theme of coming to terms with your environment. But I feel like it just beats you over the head for no reason. I don’t know, read Patricia Highsmith’s Tales of Misogyny.

How can a story be so short and drop so hard?

Dig a ditch for yourself, prepare your body, and cram it in the dirt.

joey