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Poughkeepsie Friends
The Salt Point
From the award-winning author of The Coming Storm comes the brilliantly conceived and precisely rendered novel The Salt Point, which explores the lives of four people-Anatole, Leigh, Chris, and Lydia-and their intermingled and unwinding desires. Set in a Poughkeepsie mall, the Main Street to a new generation, the novel follows these characters as they achieve their oddly triumphant lives redolent with loss and hope, humor and sadness, union and alienation. As promises are diminished and futures are abandoned, all four are hurtled toward that place in which everything is transmuted-the salt point.
224 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1990
5 people are currently reading
276 people want to read
About the author
Paul Russell
46 books135 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name.
Paul Russell received his doctorate from Cornell in 1983 for a dissertation on the novelist Vladimir Nabokov and is currently a Professor in the English Department at Vassar College.
His fourth novel, The Coming Storm won the 2000 Ferro-Grumley Award for Gay Male Fiction.
His short fiction has appeared in literary journals such as Black Warrior Review, and Carolina Quarterly.
Paul Russell received his doctorate from Cornell in 1983 for a dissertation on the novelist Vladimir Nabokov and is currently a Professor in the English Department at Vassar College.
His fourth novel, The Coming Storm won the 2000 Ferro-Grumley Award for Gay Male Fiction.
His short fiction has appeared in literary journals such as Black Warrior Review, and Carolina Quarterly.
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Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews
August 5, 2025
“You get exactly what you want...only when you get it it’s no longer what you want, you need something else.”
I hate to pull a quote from a novel and say that is what this book is about but considering how many snarky and negative reviews this novel has gathered (though also some praising it highly) I think it is a good way of opening my review.
I originally read this novel fifteen or twenty years ago and thought it was wonderful and beautiful, then the library copy disappeared and it was only after the COVID lockdown that I got a copy though it has taken me a long time to get round to reading it again. But it was worth the wait and on a second reading the novel impressed as much, if not more than on first reading. Sometimes I think it helps that I am UK not USA based (although bizarrely in my teenage years I lived, briefly, near Poughkeepsie - but I hated the area and it prejudiced me against the book before first reading it). I don't know the minutea of the shifting pop-cultural movements that American reviewers reference, often inaccurately I think, so find it easier to simply view characters as individuals not stand-ins for an era, or a socioeconomic or age group. It also helps to read novels years after they were written. If a novel is any good it will survive beyond the immediate circumstances of its creation - which is why we still read Melville, Dickens, Austen, Woolfe and so many others - no one hunts whales, there are no barefoot pickpockets on the streets of London and all the parsonages have been sold to merchant bankers - but that doesn't mean that Ishmael, Aeneas, Odysseus or countless others won't continue to speak to us long after Donna Tart and Hanya Yanagihara are as forgotten as Francis Brett Young.
Paul Russell is one of America's most underappreciated and unrecognised authors and I regard it as a not simply a pity, but a tragedy, that one of his superb novels rather then the mawkish and second rate 'Father of Frankenstein' by the utterly second rate Christopher Bram was Hollywood's first 'gay' film*1 (please see my footnote below). Still at least Russell has not suffered the indignity of having one of his novels eviscerated by Hollywood - look at what was done to Evelyn Waugh. 'Salt Point' is a marvellous examination of people, their motivations and actions - their complex, messy and flawed actions. Some people don't like flawed human beings - I wonder who they spend their time with? Or am I off just being terribly Eurotrash decadent and presuming everyone is a shit and will let you down?
If you haven't read anything by Paul Russell then this novel is a great place to start. It is intelligent, well written, thoughtful, real, honest and utterly believable. A real little gem. If you doubt me read some of the praise the novel received on publication:
“A wise, tender, and remarkably engrossing story about human affections—their power and illogic, their preciousness and unpredictability—and about how those affections flare and fare at the ‘salt point.’” — The Wall Street Journal
“If Tennessee Williams were young today and a Yankee, this is the novel he might have written. The Salt Point finds the sacred and poetic even in the slag heap of small-town America.” — Edmund White
“Like one of the nastier Henry James novels, The Salt Point shows how very possible it is for all of its characters to do unspeakable harm to each other, without allowing themselves to know what they are doing.” — The Village Voice
“Russell moves his characters into various striking arrangements with one another as deftly as a chess master and writes about their longings with cool, evocative precision.” — The Washington Post Book World
*1 Bram's novel was made into the 1998 'Gods and Monsters'. I must point out that it was not the first 'gay' film - for goodness sakes watch 'My Beautiful Launderette' 1985 and that film was certainly not the first gay film either - just because it didn't happen in the USA doesn't mean it didn't happen.
I hate to pull a quote from a novel and say that is what this book is about but considering how many snarky and negative reviews this novel has gathered (though also some praising it highly) I think it is a good way of opening my review.
I originally read this novel fifteen or twenty years ago and thought it was wonderful and beautiful, then the library copy disappeared and it was only after the COVID lockdown that I got a copy though it has taken me a long time to get round to reading it again. But it was worth the wait and on a second reading the novel impressed as much, if not more than on first reading. Sometimes I think it helps that I am UK not USA based (although bizarrely in my teenage years I lived, briefly, near Poughkeepsie - but I hated the area and it prejudiced me against the book before first reading it). I don't know the minutea of the shifting pop-cultural movements that American reviewers reference, often inaccurately I think, so find it easier to simply view characters as individuals not stand-ins for an era, or a socioeconomic or age group. It also helps to read novels years after they were written. If a novel is any good it will survive beyond the immediate circumstances of its creation - which is why we still read Melville, Dickens, Austen, Woolfe and so many others - no one hunts whales, there are no barefoot pickpockets on the streets of London and all the parsonages have been sold to merchant bankers - but that doesn't mean that Ishmael, Aeneas, Odysseus or countless others won't continue to speak to us long after Donna Tart and Hanya Yanagihara are as forgotten as Francis Brett Young.
Paul Russell is one of America's most underappreciated and unrecognised authors and I regard it as a not simply a pity, but a tragedy, that one of his superb novels rather then the mawkish and second rate 'Father of Frankenstein' by the utterly second rate Christopher Bram was Hollywood's first 'gay' film*1 (please see my footnote below). Still at least Russell has not suffered the indignity of having one of his novels eviscerated by Hollywood - look at what was done to Evelyn Waugh. 'Salt Point' is a marvellous examination of people, their motivations and actions - their complex, messy and flawed actions. Some people don't like flawed human beings - I wonder who they spend their time with? Or am I off just being terribly Eurotrash decadent and presuming everyone is a shit and will let you down?
If you haven't read anything by Paul Russell then this novel is a great place to start. It is intelligent, well written, thoughtful, real, honest and utterly believable. A real little gem. If you doubt me read some of the praise the novel received on publication:
“A wise, tender, and remarkably engrossing story about human affections—their power and illogic, their preciousness and unpredictability—and about how those affections flare and fare at the ‘salt point.’” — The Wall Street Journal
“If Tennessee Williams were young today and a Yankee, this is the novel he might have written. The Salt Point finds the sacred and poetic even in the slag heap of small-town America.” — Edmund White
“Like one of the nastier Henry James novels, The Salt Point shows how very possible it is for all of its characters to do unspeakable harm to each other, without allowing themselves to know what they are doing.” — The Village Voice
“Russell moves his characters into various striking arrangements with one another as deftly as a chess master and writes about their longings with cool, evocative precision.” — The Washington Post Book World
*1 Bram's novel was made into the 1998 'Gods and Monsters'. I must point out that it was not the first 'gay' film - for goodness sakes watch 'My Beautiful Launderette' 1985 and that film was certainly not the first gay film either - just because it didn't happen in the USA doesn't mean it didn't happen.
March 14, 2016
paul russell's first novel (i think) is basically a chamber piece with four instruments. his strong ability with fluid, rich characterization was clearly intact from the start of his career. unfortunately the novel suffered from monotony and triteness, traits that still occasionally plague one of gay fiction's preeminent and perenially under-recognized writers.
April 13, 2015
Un'educazione sentimentale.
È uno strano romanzo questo di Paul Russell, dopo averne lette poche pagine pensavo di essermi magicamente ritrovata nelle letture degli anni Ottanta, di aver ritrovato come per incanto la me di quasi trent'anni fa che leggeva Easton Ellis, Hinton, McInerney, forse anche Leavitt.
E non solo per 'colpa' del fatto di una storia che si svolge nel 1985, o dei protagonisti che ascoltano David Bowie Madonna e i Bronski Beat (ma anche un lungo elenco di gruppi post-qualcosa da me mai sentiti), o dell'aria che si respira, elettrica e sintetizzata come i capelli di Limahal e di droghe e cocktail che enfatizzano e danno un senso alle giornate tutte uguali, ma anche (o soprattutto?) per via di quelle tematiche così minimaliste, così apparentemente semplici, di vite, come quelle di Anatole Lydia e Chris, che si dividono e si accompagnano tra cene, discoteche, lo struscio annoiato lungo la Main Street di Poughkeepsie, la piccola città di provincia dove vivono e nella quale si respira e si vive aspirando all'allure di New York, di sentimenti che si mischiano e si sovrappongono quasi con disattenzione e noncuranza, di vite che apparentemente non hanno niente da raccontare.
Invece, non è così, basta andare oltre quelle poche pagine iniziali, scrostare quella patina che sembra voler proteggere Anatole, giovane esuberante parrucchiere gay, Lydia, la sua amica del cuore nemmeno trentenne anonima e insicura, Chris, tenebroso e introverso oggetto del desiderio di entrambi, per accorgersi che dentro ciascuno di loro si agitano un tumulto di desideri e di insicurezze, di paure e di rimpianti, un passato più o meno remoto capace ancora di agitare il presente, capire che il loro è un equilbrio precario in cui amore e amicizia, sesso rubato, desiderato, o anche solo comprato, si mischiano come l'acqua dolce e quella salata, senza un vero perché.
Così come l'acqua del fiume e l'acqua del mare hanno un punto in cui tutto trova naturalmente il suo equilibrio, così come l'Hudson che attraversa Poughkeepsie ha un punto di confluenza che non è mai possibile fissare perché si sposta in continuazione, dove acqua dolce e acqua salata si incontrano per la prima volta e si attraggono l'un l'altra, allo stesso modo le vite dei tre protagonisti lottano incessantemente per non perdersi e per vincere la loro paura di amare e di lasciarsi amare, per procurare stabilità alla loro precarietà esistenziale e sentimentale.
Ci riusciranno, o si illuderanno di poterlo fare, finché non farà la sua entrata in scena, in un pomeriggio di sole di settembre, il giovanissimo Leigh, bello e sensuale, acerbo e malizioso, conturbante e crudele come solo certa naturale bellezza, unita alla giovinezza, è capace di essere: Nostro Ragazzo del Marciapiede, come lo chiamano, sin dall'inizio, Anatole e Lydia, colui che è capace di scompaginare ogni equilibrio, di spostare senza nemmeno accorgersene, con indolente oppurtunismo, il punto di confluenza di tutti, di mettere ciascuno di fronte alle sue incertezze e ai suoi rimpianti: su tutto e su tutti, l'incapacità di amare e di lasciarsi amare, di dire e comunicare, di svelarsi per paura di essere feriti.
Salato, come le lacrime.
«Avere senza possedere: è possibile che sia peggio di non avere per nulla?»
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TM77bP...
È uno strano romanzo questo di Paul Russell, dopo averne lette poche pagine pensavo di essermi magicamente ritrovata nelle letture degli anni Ottanta, di aver ritrovato come per incanto la me di quasi trent'anni fa che leggeva Easton Ellis, Hinton, McInerney, forse anche Leavitt.
E non solo per 'colpa' del fatto di una storia che si svolge nel 1985, o dei protagonisti che ascoltano David Bowie Madonna e i Bronski Beat (ma anche un lungo elenco di gruppi post-qualcosa da me mai sentiti), o dell'aria che si respira, elettrica e sintetizzata come i capelli di Limahal e di droghe e cocktail che enfatizzano e danno un senso alle giornate tutte uguali, ma anche (o soprattutto?) per via di quelle tematiche così minimaliste, così apparentemente semplici, di vite, come quelle di Anatole Lydia e Chris, che si dividono e si accompagnano tra cene, discoteche, lo struscio annoiato lungo la Main Street di Poughkeepsie, la piccola città di provincia dove vivono e nella quale si respira e si vive aspirando all'allure di New York, di sentimenti che si mischiano e si sovrappongono quasi con disattenzione e noncuranza, di vite che apparentemente non hanno niente da raccontare.
Invece, non è così, basta andare oltre quelle poche pagine iniziali, scrostare quella patina che sembra voler proteggere Anatole, giovane esuberante parrucchiere gay, Lydia, la sua amica del cuore nemmeno trentenne anonima e insicura, Chris, tenebroso e introverso oggetto del desiderio di entrambi, per accorgersi che dentro ciascuno di loro si agitano un tumulto di desideri e di insicurezze, di paure e di rimpianti, un passato più o meno remoto capace ancora di agitare il presente, capire che il loro è un equilbrio precario in cui amore e amicizia, sesso rubato, desiderato, o anche solo comprato, si mischiano come l'acqua dolce e quella salata, senza un vero perché.
Così come l'acqua del fiume e l'acqua del mare hanno un punto in cui tutto trova naturalmente il suo equilibrio, così come l'Hudson che attraversa Poughkeepsie ha un punto di confluenza che non è mai possibile fissare perché si sposta in continuazione, dove acqua dolce e acqua salata si incontrano per la prima volta e si attraggono l'un l'altra, allo stesso modo le vite dei tre protagonisti lottano incessantemente per non perdersi e per vincere la loro paura di amare e di lasciarsi amare, per procurare stabilità alla loro precarietà esistenziale e sentimentale.
Ci riusciranno, o si illuderanno di poterlo fare, finché non farà la sua entrata in scena, in un pomeriggio di sole di settembre, il giovanissimo Leigh, bello e sensuale, acerbo e malizioso, conturbante e crudele come solo certa naturale bellezza, unita alla giovinezza, è capace di essere: Nostro Ragazzo del Marciapiede, come lo chiamano, sin dall'inizio, Anatole e Lydia, colui che è capace di scompaginare ogni equilibrio, di spostare senza nemmeno accorgersene, con indolente oppurtunismo, il punto di confluenza di tutti, di mettere ciascuno di fronte alle sue incertezze e ai suoi rimpianti: su tutto e su tutti, l'incapacità di amare e di lasciarsi amare, di dire e comunicare, di svelarsi per paura di essere feriti.
Salato, come le lacrime.
«Avere senza possedere: è possibile che sia peggio di non avere per nulla?»
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TM77bP...
April 11, 2025
Either this is a work of staggering genius or it's an insufferable pile of shite. I know which way I'm leaning...
Those characters Russell inflicts on us are a sad bunch of narcissistic self-centered losers that do not evince the tiniest drop of sympathy for their miserable excuses for a life. They have in fact little to complain about. And yet!
The "plot" is threadbare and what there is of it is highly unoriginal. But this is not the important thing, it seems. Rather we are subjected to a constant and unrelenting flow of half-baked, made-up worries and self-inflicted imaginary torments as they drift aimlessly through the minds of the characters. But those "thoughts" are so outlandish and so minutely dissected that they become meaningless and unrealistic, not to mention highly unlikely to have ever actually crossed the mind of any actual human being, let alone with such density. Those characters just need a good slap, really.
To labour the point even further, the lives of all the characters follow roughly the same template, only varying in their details: they are all in a rut of their own making, they've all experienced the tragic and traumatic death of someone close in the past, they all pretend to care about other people, they all continuously fling metaphorically the back of their hand to their forehead, while crying "Woe is me!" and looking up at the skies through half-closed lids. None can set the others into relief for they are effectively all the same people.
It was a struggle! I did like the continuous way the author swapped from one point of view to another. I thought that was an interesting and effective technique. But that was not enough of a redeeming feature.
Those characters Russell inflicts on us are a sad bunch of narcissistic self-centered losers that do not evince the tiniest drop of sympathy for their miserable excuses for a life. They have in fact little to complain about. And yet!
The "plot" is threadbare and what there is of it is highly unoriginal. But this is not the important thing, it seems. Rather we are subjected to a constant and unrelenting flow of half-baked, made-up worries and self-inflicted imaginary torments as they drift aimlessly through the minds of the characters. But those "thoughts" are so outlandish and so minutely dissected that they become meaningless and unrealistic, not to mention highly unlikely to have ever actually crossed the mind of any actual human being, let alone with such density. Those characters just need a good slap, really.
To labour the point even further, the lives of all the characters follow roughly the same template, only varying in their details: they are all in a rut of their own making, they've all experienced the tragic and traumatic death of someone close in the past, they all pretend to care about other people, they all continuously fling metaphorically the back of their hand to their forehead, while crying "Woe is me!" and looking up at the skies through half-closed lids. None can set the others into relief for they are effectively all the same people.
It was a struggle! I did like the continuous way the author swapped from one point of view to another. I thought that was an interesting and effective technique. But that was not enough of a redeeming feature.
January 17, 2009
i found it!! i've been searching for the name of this book day and night (last night and today) but yeah this book will change the way you look at some things and probably make you sad, it's about love, experience and just life. when three kids all fall in love and one kid is torn apart... you will see
April 23, 2009
Every once in a while I have the urge to read something about sexual ambivalence in the 80's.
I liked this book, yet I did have some gnawing hangups. For one thing, all the characters do is talk! Yak yak yak, blah blah blah, my feelings, my Horrible Past, etc... they are all drama queens and quite melodramatic... I hesitate to say it like that, because it was a realistic form of melodrama. The characters were believable human beings, and yet their nonstop articulation and analysis of themselves grated on my nerves occasionally. But certain people are of course like that in real life, so why would they be any less difficult or annoying in book form?
Also, as a side-note, I was stricken by this one passage:
"'I like friends who make out,' he tells them matter-of-factly. His voice doesn't belong to him. It's a voice he's heard somewhere before, that he's imitating. It's precise and measured, the voice of a bad actor in a forgotten film." (104)
I was stricken by this passage because I thought to myself, How many times have I read this passage before, or something like it with the same sentiment? How many angst/dispassionate sexual ambivalent MFA writing Contemporary American Classics (usually from the 80's) have a passage EXACTLY like this? How come nobody ever gets sick of this writing, how this formulaic prose is often considered stylistic, edgy, modern? I for one DO get sick of it, and will have to spice up my reading list soon. But in truth all these books taken for themselves are fine, though when put one after the other like a factory line of Cool Prose quickly become monotonous.
I liked this book, yet I did have some gnawing hangups. For one thing, all the characters do is talk! Yak yak yak, blah blah blah, my feelings, my Horrible Past, etc... they are all drama queens and quite melodramatic... I hesitate to say it like that, because it was a realistic form of melodrama. The characters were believable human beings, and yet their nonstop articulation and analysis of themselves grated on my nerves occasionally. But certain people are of course like that in real life, so why would they be any less difficult or annoying in book form?
Also, as a side-note, I was stricken by this one passage:
"'I like friends who make out,' he tells them matter-of-factly. His voice doesn't belong to him. It's a voice he's heard somewhere before, that he's imitating. It's precise and measured, the voice of a bad actor in a forgotten film." (104)
I was stricken by this passage because I thought to myself, How many times have I read this passage before, or something like it with the same sentiment? How many angst/dispassionate sexual ambivalent MFA writing Contemporary American Classics (usually from the 80's) have a passage EXACTLY like this? How come nobody ever gets sick of this writing, how this formulaic prose is often considered stylistic, edgy, modern? I for one DO get sick of it, and will have to spice up my reading list soon. But in truth all these books taken for themselves are fine, though when put one after the other like a factory line of Cool Prose quickly become monotonous.
January 27, 2015
mad me sad all day, but it was good
December 3, 2021
A moody, melancholy novel about four young people experimenting with friendship mixed with sexuality and bumping up against jealousy. The setting is Poughkeepsie, NY, depicted as a decaying burgh (despite Vassar and Bard,) about 70 miles up the Hudson River. New York City's hip gay scene provides occasional adventures for Anatole, obsessed with club kids, and his drinking buddy Lydia. They're longtime friends now in their late 20 but still marking time in dead-end jobs in downtown Poughkeepsie. Then two beguiling strangers land in town -- Chris, a preppy bisexual voyeur of male couples, and Leigh, an enigmatic teenage hipster who by turns lures all three into brief, frustrating affairs. On the first read through, I grew tired of the foursome's angst, hard drinking, and sexual overtures that were too obviously doomed. But on a second reading, I became more absorbed by how the three older characters, spellbound by boy toy Leigh, were unable to resolve their insecurities and distrust of each other. Some passages sadly took me back to a few of my own romantic stumbles in college years. A tale perhaps best read with a tumbler of whiskey or gin close by,
December 22, 2018
This is one of those books written in the early 90s that are very literary because they're very internal, very character-driven, with very little plot. This sounds like I'm deriding it, but I'm not -- it's quite good. There are four main characters here, and Russell is amazing with his omniscient narrator, another Virginia Woolf with his fluid movements between the minds of the four. By the end of the relatively short book, you really, really know them. You really do.
The thing is, though, they're all pretty terrible. They're all broken in various ways, like all good characters are, but there's very little, if any redemption. (Russell wrote a sequel to this book twenty-five years after he wrote it -- I'll read that at some point to see if there's any redemption there.) These people do terrible things to each other -- some knowingly, some not -- and it just breaks your heart as you read.
The scary thing, though, is how much I identified with them, particularly Anatole, who is, I think, the least offensive of the four. Still, though, as I read, I found myself identifying with all of them, even Lydia, the most despicable, and I thought to myself, "What the hell does this say about me??! Am I this terrible??!"
The writing is great, beautiful, evocative, very engaging. The plot is virtually non-existent, and it's pretty obvious how the whole thing is going to go down, but you keep reading anyway.
The thing is, though, they're all pretty terrible. They're all broken in various ways, like all good characters are, but there's very little, if any redemption. (Russell wrote a sequel to this book twenty-five years after he wrote it -- I'll read that at some point to see if there's any redemption there.) These people do terrible things to each other -- some knowingly, some not -- and it just breaks your heart as you read.
The scary thing, though, is how much I identified with them, particularly Anatole, who is, I think, the least offensive of the four. Still, though, as I read, I found myself identifying with all of them, even Lydia, the most despicable, and I thought to myself, "What the hell does this say about me??! Am I this terrible??!"
The writing is great, beautiful, evocative, very engaging. The plot is virtually non-existent, and it's pretty obvious how the whole thing is going to go down, but you keep reading anyway.
November 20, 2012
I'm starting to think of Paul Russell as a one-man Metro North school of the gay novel, though I kind of hate to slap a sexual label on a work of fiction that, to be fair, is about many forms of desire. (It also concerns me that labeling a novel as "gay" could put off heterosexual readers who might find the book equally rewarding. It's not an erotic novel, though Russell doesn't shy away from writing about sex.) Playing itself out in the decaying Poughkeepsie of the mid 1980s, The Salt Point centers on many of the same anxieties that Paul Russell explores -- to one degree or another -- in many of his other books: sexual identity insecurity, AIDS, the city/upstate dichotomy. For me, the formula works; I've found all of his novels thus far to be engaging in spite of some similar material. Your milage may vary.
November 10, 2015
This is a story of delusion, desire and dissimilation. Three main characters living in a small town have created for themselves a mutually supporting fantasy of life that serves to maintain their equilibrium if nothing else, that is until the Boy of the Mall arrives and becomes the lightning rod for all that they wish would remain hidden. He is the catalyst to the disintegration of everything including the three main characters, friends of sort. A well woven tale that leads one on. The power of beauty is a theme that comes out of this, a power that is ephemeral and intense at the same time, largely projected by the beholder. The mental creations each wove around this boy bore no resemblance to what may have been there, but each created within themselves an attributed power that had the capacity to destro. A fascinating study I enjoyed it.
March 12, 2017
I'll admit it. I was afraid to re-read this novel by one of my favorite authors, which I first read closer to the time in which it was set, at an age when the concerns of the characters were not unlike my own. I was afraid it wouldn't hold up. Aside from a few passages that seem like they're trying a little too hard to summon up a disaffected Less than Zero style and tone, this novel still works, moving and often tender, with believable characters and situations and some beautiful writing. An unexpected bonus? The musical references led me to throw together the perfect soundtrack for this book: The Psychedelic Furs, The Cure, Bowie. Depeche Mode, Bronski Beat, and, of course, The Smiths, always The Smiths.
May 1, 2017
This is definitely a slow burner. A bit too slow at times, and that's the reason for not giving it 5 stars.
Other than that, I have to believe there are autobiographical elements to the book. The depth of each of the characters is astounding. Every interaction reveals something about them.
Then there's the language. The prose style provides a veil of sadness across the story even when sad things aren't happening. It's like you feel yourself plummeting toward a dangerous yet inevitable tragedy, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.
Breathtaking.
Other than that, I have to believe there are autobiographical elements to the book. The depth of each of the characters is astounding. Every interaction reveals something about them.
Then there's the language. The prose style provides a veil of sadness across the story even when sad things aren't happening. It's like you feel yourself plummeting toward a dangerous yet inevitable tragedy, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.
Breathtaking.
May 15, 2023
I lived in upstate New York for ten years and appreciated knowing much of the locale in the book. It is a heartwrenching novel that displays the heart and pain that a tainted love triangle can produce. There were so many great points, and I loved how they even explained the name of the book and its relation to the story. Awesome read.
September 7, 2009
This book was hard to choke down the first time through, but when you reread it, you discover all the subtleties and sublime sweetness in each character.
It's most definitely worth a couple of ganders!
It's most definitely worth a couple of ganders!
July 12, 2009
this book is not for the weak of heart, or the clean of mind. it is definitely R rated, yet meaningful and touching. it changed my way of thinking completely.
August 30, 2017
I'm torn about how many stars to give this book. All the characters are deeply flawed, and their interaction is ultimately depressing. There were places where the narrative abruptly jumps, making the story hard to follow. At times I wondered if anyone proofread the book before it was published. Yet I couldn't put it down. I have read a more recent book by this author, and can see in comparison how his writing has matured. But the seeds of what I enjoyed in reading Sergey Nabakov are clearly evident in The Salt Point. That's why I feel maybe I'm not giving this book enough stars. I look forward to reading more by Paul Russell.
February 23, 2019
Other reviews of this book call it gay fiction but I read it as early aught angst of sexual identity. The characters are in their late twenties, are at end of their early youth with no direction forward in life. Three friends, Anatole, Lydia and Chris who are more drinking buddies than real friends meet Leigh who is the mirror that causes them to really see themselves. Leigh is a chimera and each gives him the identity that pleases them. I found the first half of this book slow going but the second half was much more interesting as the characters are set irrevocably upon their paths. This work is by no means perfect but I am glad I read it.
January 4, 2018
Love this author but did not like this book as much as the others
November 11, 2008
This book was siting (unregistered) on my tbr pile for such a long time. Eventually I picked up it not fully aware what to expect.
It's easy read spiced with psychological insights into the main characters and I did loved that. I loved how they at some instances didn't have any barrier to be open regardless of the consequences; I loved their honesty (indeed mainly as a internal monologues) about their flaws and evilness; especially that second one, it was almost carnal and indeed there were some literally carnal moments. However not that much which I'm so glad. When I say I'm glad that's not because it also included homoerotic scenes but because I always find scenes of sex in literature dull and ridiculous. Something similar is with paints of the sunrise, it's just impossible avoid those kitsch elements (regardless of who is the painter). The same is with sex scene but maybe that's only me *shrug*
Anyhow here the scene of sex are quite bearable; pictures of lust are more graphic (this is a compliment).
The story is settled in small-town American and it's about relations between four people: friendship (gosh how friendship can be fragile!), betrayal, lust, love, dark secrets from the past, loss ... life. There is no clear plot line, on the contrary: this novel is study of its characters. Each of them is has been the center of "its" part of the story and indeed characterizations are absolutely superb.
It's easy read spiced with psychological insights into the main characters and I did loved that. I loved how they at some instances didn't have any barrier to be open regardless of the consequences; I loved their honesty (indeed mainly as a internal monologues) about their flaws and evilness; especially that second one, it was almost carnal and indeed there were some literally carnal moments. However not that much which I'm so glad. When I say I'm glad that's not because it also included homoerotic scenes but because I always find scenes of sex in literature dull and ridiculous. Something similar is with paints of the sunrise, it's just impossible avoid those kitsch elements (regardless of who is the painter). The same is with sex scene but maybe that's only me *shrug*
Anyhow here the scene of sex are quite bearable; pictures of lust are more graphic (this is a compliment).
The story is settled in small-town American and it's about relations between four people: friendship (gosh how friendship can be fragile!), betrayal, lust, love, dark secrets from the past, loss ... life. There is no clear plot line, on the contrary: this novel is study of its characters. Each of them is has been the center of "its" part of the story and indeed characterizations are absolutely superb.
January 10, 2016
This novel got so close to happening, if that makes sense, but it never fully took off. And then it just ended abruptly. This could have been a 40 page story to lend its title to a whole anthology of MFA crap written as a graduation thesis. I adored "The Coming Storm" and "Boys of Life," and I'm glad that Russell got this abortion out of his system before moving on to those. Recommended if you're looking to read all his novels for the sake of it. Otherwise, weak and forgettable, and ultimately no.
January 8, 2008
Probably more interesting for the Poughkeepsie references than the plot. If you want to read Paul Russell, start with The Coming Storm.
May 12, 2018
My review / meine Lektüre at
http://regalreise.de/lektuere/paul-ru...
http://regalreise.de/lektuere/paul-ru...
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