Something for the Pain: A Memoir of the Turf

I thought "A Memoir of the Turf" was something the publisher had thrown on the cover, since almost all of Murnane work can be considered "memoir" in some way, even though nobody anywhere ever means his kind of fiction when they say "memoir." But why not ride the gravy train, eh? See if you can suck

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in a few unwary punters, who think they're getting a book about a guy's life-long love affair with the track, but are really getting a late work of a modernist genius?

Except no, this is a book about a guy's life-long love affair with the track, and involves roughly nothing that would not fit in any standard memoir. Since I've read much of Murnane's other work, I was interested to learn some facts about him, to hear about his relationship with his wife, and to get some good anecdotes about pissing in sinks. Of course, the prose is wonderful, but it's wonderful in an uninteresting way: it's just perfectly easy to read.

Well, it seem strange to say you're disappointed with an amusing, eccentric, nostalgic book about horse-racing, written by one of the strangest men writing in the English language. It's nice to know the next time I want to read some Ackerley, I can re-read this instead. And there are just enough reminders of the astonishing Murnane that I can kid myself into thinking I'm using my brain.

Paul Eluard: "There is another world, but it is in this one."

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