Swimmingly

Three days, three book reviews? One might assume this MOSL, Man of Semi Leisure, has hung up his copywriting cleats in order to spend his sunset years burying his head in a book.

Well, you know what they say about those who assume. Actually, I don't because 9 times out of 10, MY assumptions are correct. 

The better conjecture, at least in this case, is that I'm hawking books for no other reason than to beef up my credentials as a newly-minted Amazon Affiliate Marketer. And using this blog (now no longer available on the esteemed LinkedIn platform) to rack up those sweet, sweet penny commissions.

Today's book review is about The Swimmers. 

It's only an odd coincidence that all three books feature covers in the Blue/Teal Azure color scheme. Even more interesting is the two books on swimming were both penned by Asian women.  I don't know why that is. 

Could it be, as I have often suggested, that swimming is a uniquely meditative athletic actively, suited more to the tranquil Eastern hemisphere as opposed the hectic Western hemisphere, birthplace to the Rat Race and the 3 AM mandatory Zoom Conference call?

I'm not particularly given to reading novels. I'm more of a non-fiction or short story guy. Perhaps it's my annoying short attention span. Or my distaste for purple prose. 

Not sure why so many authors go to extraordinary efforts to describe the hair thin threads used to sew button holes. Or the numerous knots in a piece of pine some lazy beaver gave up on. 

It all seems superfluous. And gets in the way of me reaching the last page -- and getting back to mindless Tik Tok videos of dogs chasing their tails. 

Yes, I'm a product of the aforementioned Western Hemisphere.

Perhaps if I were a fan of prose, it would appear more in my writing. But I'm certain none of us wants that.

As it turns out the The Swimmers is less about swimming (disappointing) and more about the decay of aging that we all must confront. Decay in our parents. Decay in ourselves. And decay in the culture at large. 

All reflected in a mysterious, and growing, crack at the bottom of a pool. Though Ms. Otsuka's observations on the various shapes and sizes and affectations of people who yearn to be in the water are uncanny. And telling.

At a 175 pages, The Swimmers is a quick and enjoyable read. I wish I could say the same for Steinbeck's East of Eden, which weighs in at a mindbending 700 pages. And gather's dust on my nightstand. which is thankfully removed by my new cleaning lady, who is affordable, friendly and willing to attend to my baseboards with no further instruction. 

And the last thing I need in my life right now are decaying baseboards.

To purchase your copy of The Swimmers, click here.