What He's Poised to Do

Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or (1843). The philosopher Kierkegaard’s work is often used to cudgel undergraduates into submission, which is a shame, because he’s also one of the most playful and inventive writers of his or any time. Either/Or is one of the best examples of how to build an argument using multiple perspectives, layered narrative, fragmentation, and pseudonymity.

Henry James, The Princess Casamassima (1886). James is the author I return to more than any other, in part because I’m constantly trying to untangle him—at the level of sentences, at the level of thought—and in part because I find the books immensely pleasurable. No one has done a better job at observing the way light plays on the surface of human consciousness. This novel is considered something of an oddity for James because it deals with politics more explicitly than most of his work, but for me that helps bring the vexed inner life of its protagonist, Hyacinth Robinson, into sharper relief.

Duke Ellington, The Blanton-Webster Band (1940–1942). There are three names in the title: the composer and pianist Duke Ellington, a leviathan of American jazz, and two members of his band of the early forties, the bassist Jimmy Blanton and the tenor saxophonist Ben Webster. The title leaves out so many more who made this music, including the arranger Billy Strayhorn, the alto saxophonist Johnny Hodges, and more. But you’ll find them soon enough when you immerse yourself in this music, which ranges from near-novelty up-tempo songs to the saddest dirges.

Groucho Marx, You Bet Your Life (1950). Groucho was long past his prime as a vaudevillian and movie star when he agreed to host this not-very-interesting game show. What made it good, and then great, was his willingness to engage with the contestants, to lead them into genuine conversation and/or put them at the spear-end of his wit. Groucho to young actress: “Now suppose you became a famous actress, and then you met somebody you liked and got married. Would you be willing to quit acting and be a housewife and a mother?” Young actress to Groucho: “Well, I think if you keep your feet on the ground you can combine both. That’s what I’d like to do.” Groucho to actress: “Well, if you keep your feet on the ground, you’ll never be a mother.”

Charles Laughton, The Night of the Hunter (1955). The great actor Charles Laughton directed only one movie, this Southern Gothic tale of crime, punishment, innocence, and (especially) evil. Robert Mitchum personifies the last, as a preacher who roams around the countryside marrying vulnerable women and then snuffing them out. Shelley Winters is also superb as one of those women. But the real star is the direction—particularly the art direction, which results in several moments that are almost Goya-like in the way they combine terror and profound morality.

Stanley Elkin, The Dick Gibson Show (1971). Elkin struggled with multiple sclerosis for most of his adult life, yet regardless of how his illness limited his physical energy, he was one hell of a dervish on the page, turning out a series of genuinely unhinged but impeccably written comic epics. The Dick Gibson Show follows the picaresque adventures of a radio host in the broad midcentury of America. William Gass has said that Elkin was like a jazz player, and William Gass should know.

Swamp Dogg, Cuffed, Collared & Tagged (1972). There are very few genuine moralists/ironists in soul and funk music. Swamp Dogg is one. He’s been doing it for forty years, and he’s not done yet. The fact that he recorded a song for my novel Please Step Back isn’t a factor in my recommending him without reservations. People like to point to the first Swamp Dogg record, Total Destruction to Your Mind. I like to point to this one, which has his peerless cover of John Prine’s “Sam Stone” and a great tribute to Sly Stone, without pointing away from the other.

Joy Williams, State of Grace (1973). The world can be a terrifying place where certainties wither and die and what’s left behind are either husks or seeds. This novel, by Joy Williams, goes straight into the middle of the strangeness of people—particularly her conflicted, half-lidded heroine—and it’s one of the most poetic books of the last half century.