Small Rain by Garth Greenwell is one of the most creative books I’ve read this year. Not creative in that it plays with style or structure, but simply for its somehow wholly engaging focus on the micro detail (and in doing so, tells a macro story).
What a strange thing a body is, I thought, how eerie to be filled with blood and covered with hair, to be a machine any part of which might fail; and how strange to have hated it so much, when it had always been so serviceable, when it had done more or less everything I had needed until now, when for more than forty years it had worked so well. Poor body, I thought again, looking down on it. I had hated it so much and been so ashamed and I might have loved it instead. Continue reading
