The words are coming out all weird...

I need to give a quick, belated nod in the direction of Amy Hempel, an important voice in the world of short fiction and one I'd ignored until a few weeks ago.

If you, too, have ignored her, I really suggest immersing: get the big 2007 collection of her stuff, the one with the dog on the cover, and dive in. (Dogs appear throughout her work, and despite being a cat person, I can appreciate the role they play--they're often subtly integral to a story. With Hempel, I get the feeling that everything's intentional, just about every word, which is underscored by the fact that many of her stories are just a page or two long. I might not exactly grasp that intent, sure, but everything contributes. She's an artist.)

I hustled through this collection--which spans many years of writing--much more quickly than I expected. I'm very glad to have read it, and I'm still thinking about moments or moods she's created. Much of it resonates. It's warm and unsettling stuff at once.

I've arrived at this: For all Hempel's intentions and precision, the best word I can come up with to describe her writing more generally is atmospheric. You never really know her characters, and yet you know them intimately. You get vivid flashes of context, but the bits of specificity don't add up to any whole you can envision more clearly than a foggy lake or an Impressionist painting.

That impression might have been influenced by the fact that I was listening to Radiohead for pretty much the duration of this reading process. I'm not sure why. I rediscovered The Bends and had it on loop for a week. This is an interesting combination.

Some days I wonder if I could freelance as the book world's equivalent of a sommelier. I've given this more than its fair share of thought. What better thing than to be a "trained and knowledgeable [book] professional, commonly working in fine [book stores], who specializes in all aspects of [book] service"? You know--matching books to moods and tastes and places. Offering advice about reading books in sequence, clustering thematically, maximizing the impact of the writing for the reader. Pairing books with music, food, and, um, wine. I already do this.

If only the task lent itself to wielding a special tool, like a corkscrew, and pouring with a little earned gusto. And had a name, preferably French.

Livrerrier? No. That makes me start to dislike the letter r, pronounced or not. Bouquinnier? I'm really not up to this challenge on an overcast Tuesday morning.