It Has Become That Time of Evening

Later along on that same gray Sunday as before, I finished reading James Agee's A Death in the Family, while lying on a bench on the now-quiet Yale campus and listening to the impressively intricate carillon nearby (in a university tower? one of the churches?) belling out some thoughtful Bach preludes. This is a very good situation in which to read this book.

Do read this book; I'll lend it to one of you when we next meet. It's sad, but that kind of illuminated literary sad. Agee's writing is extraordinarily lyrical, especially during several nocturnal scenes, where he uses soft and poetic phrases to create a charmed and impressionistic atmosphere. Reading him is like looking at a really good painting, where you admire the composition as well as the quality of light and shadow, and also the brush strokes on the surface. Then when the time calls for it, he shifts his writing into a harder-edged, more objective style.

There's a prelude to the book called Knoxville: Summer, 1915, the last part of which you'll recognize from Samuel Barber. I've loved Barber's setting since I heard it the first time; I love it still, but it doesn't do justice to the free and gentle flowing Agee's writing, or something flowery like that.

Agee died before completing the book, and I'm curious to know more about the editorial decisions made before its publication. There's a brief note at the front of the book: most interestingly, several large sections of text (including Knoxville) weren't integrated into the book by Agee, and stand in between the three parts of the book. This actually works very nicely. The final chapter of the book maybe doesn't feel like it sums up what came before.

Also, briefly, I recommend not reading the back cover of the book or any other synopses; I usually don't & I'm glad in this case I didn't. Just let the plot of the book pace itself; it does so exquisitely.