Reading literary fiction is one of the great joys in my life. I’ve recently ventured outside of this genre to read a fictionalized account of someone’s experiences in a foreign country. As I first started the book I was very aware of how the writing was “less good” then the writing I’m used to reading and I’ve been pondering that a bit. What makes “good” writing? For me the books that have stayed with me the most are actually the most “spare.” The action in the books is really placed in the head of the narrator and the reader learns about the inner workings of the character in a way that almost allows you to feel that you are them. What is remarkable about this feat – is it’s accomplished with an economy of words an impressionistic (almost) approach to describing the inner life of a character that allows the reader to fill in the blanks with their own content (without the reader being conscious of doing this). I recently finished a book called The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald. This book was recommended to me by my literary-minded dermatologist. This slight book comes in well under 200 pages and the scope of the book is limited to a small town and a handful of people. I finished the book feeling like I knew Florence (the main character) and yet her biography is largely unknown to me. While I don’t know where she grew up, what her great loves were, or her favorite food – I do know she had a renegades mindset and the courage to go her own way that few of us possess. She inspired me as a contemporary women business owner in a way few (if any) “business” books written today can. Why… because the characters humanity was so deftly written that it is impossible not to understand what Florence needed to be “made of” in order to “tilt at windmills” and open her bookstore.
The human universal is what allows us to connect deeply and meaningfully with each other. Our individualistic view of our uniqueness and specialness is ego driven at best and delusional at worst.
So…my conclusion is – the books that stay with me reinforce the universal human experience and allow me to transcend my isolated experience by relating to the experience of another isolated human. Ironic isn’t it?
One Day at a Time 
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