The Immersion Library

Surely even those immune from the world, for the time being, need the touch of one another, or all is lost. Their arms encircling each other, their bodies circling the odorous, just-nailed-down floor, they were, at last, imperviousness in motion. They had found it, and had almost missed it. They had had to dance. They were what their separate hearts desired that day, for themselves and each other.

I imagine Eudora Welty beginning her career creating storylines for the everyday occurences she witnessed; the ultimate people-watcher. What goes on in that house or in that town? Who is that old man waiting at the crosswalk? How does that piano instructor evaluate the life she’s built and how does her prize pupil see the world?

As her career progresses, Welty’s stories evolve into more complexity while maintaining their core essence. She layers her sense of her surroundings – the American South – with her maturing imagination, into a reality with meaning that others may not take the time to consider.

However, I find her stories a bit esoteric. They do not necessarily speak to me. While she immerses me in her depictions, they fail to resonate with my own experience. The stories themselves behave more as paintings on a wall rather than vehicles to uncharted locations. At times, I felt confused as she randomly welds details about characters or communities onto the story, as if I should already know them, and expects me to marvel at the avant garde modern art sculpture.

I appreciate Welty’s work, but do not rejoice in it. She allows for her characters and their culture to speak for themselves, yet I don’t necessarily hear what they say; like I am the old man at the crosswalk and the ruccous on the other side of the street cannot distract me from focusing on my destination. I will not deny her writing talent and some of her stories and passages contain a very distinct flavor. In general, they simply don’t suit my palette.