“Tinkers” by Paul Harding is the third book I’ve finished this year. Just 57 more to go.
Here’s an excerpt:
“Howard thought, Is it not true: A move of the head, a step to the left or right, and we change from wise, decent, loyal people to conceited fools? Light changes, our eyes blink and see the world from the slightest difference of perspective and our place in it has changed infinitely: Sun catches cheap plate flaking—I am a tinker; the moon is an egg glowing in its nest of leafless trees—I am a poet; a brochure for an asylum is on the dresser—I am an epileptic, insane; the house is behind me—I am a fugitive. His despair had not come from the fact that he was a fool; he knew he was a fool. His despair came from the fact that his wife saw him as a fool, as a useless tinker, a copier of bad verse from two-penny religious magazines, an epileptic, and could find no reason to turn her head and see him as something better.”
Harding’s lyrical debut novel, which came out in 2009, is the first independently published Pulitzer Prize winner since “A Confederacy of Dunces” received the award in 1981.
Incidentally, “A Confederacy of Dunces”, which was published posthumously 11 years after the suicide of its author John Kennedy Toole, is one of my favorite books.
Read this book on Scribd.