This book is pure delight, starting with Ian Frazier’s droll introduction. What a life, late ‘70s NYC, writing for the great William Shawn and the “New Yorker.” As their editor, he developed their talents. Kincaid says in her intro that working for Shawn was like an apprenticeship. Frazier writes of how fearless Kincaid is, as a person and a writer.
I love her style. She says in the intro, it’s just her thoughts, from her own head, on paper. I’m sure hoping there’s more craft to it than that. She has a cool way of repeating words and phrases that’s amused, a bit wry; not at all cynical or sarcastic but skirting that edge. To get around the “New Yorker” style mandate of “we,” she frequently casts her pieces in first person under the guise of “a young woman in Chelsea writes” or “We heard this from a young woman friend visiting from Antigua.”
There’s a musicality to the language, almost like song lyrics the way she repeats and builds phrases from one sentence to the next and the next. Maybe calypso, if I’m not pushing the Antiguan reference too far.
Her experimentation includes very detailed lists—of people (by name, especially if famous or think they are famous; e.g., “Honors,” p.100-101), of foods eaten at a reception or awards banquet, or what’s on a department store’s first floor (p.32).
She also gives detailed descriptions of places and people that include seemingly meaningless or unnecessary details. Often delivered in one breathless run-on sentence, as if someone is telling you excitedly about an experience they just had, including details that matter only to them, but you listen anyway because they’re your friend.