Book Review HeadingHeadline of the book review
Whether these environments are human beings, places or things, Anderson always succeeds in breathing fresh air into the site. Heading Home is a book you want to re-read each page and exchange with a mate. Each time Anderson uses a toll sticker, he colours his typeface with humour, reflection and diligence.
Anderson' s work has been a great success. From baristas to Barbie dummies, the reader can walk into every sticker and expects to meet brave personalities and one-of-a-kind images, because Anderson can see the meaning in everyday life. "and leaves a thin layer of crimson on the windscreen. But it soothes the glare, so I let it - make the rest of the breeze visible," Anderson wrote in a play entitled "Espresso in Kayenta.
" Those tiny snapshots, like collecting sands on his windscreen, make Anderson's work look real and represent an authentic American West man's special one. Maybe he only stopped for a cup of tea, but Anderson is aware of the detail of this stop, which made it an important remember. With this knowledge he can also impress this remembrance on his reader.
Anderson' s mind also covers authors who came before him. Understanding the wild writer's tropes into which he could be compelled, he concludes with "Letter to Jack Kerouac". "Anderson is a novelist who has been influenced by his journeys, but his path is not mimicry. Rather, Anderson overcomes stereotypes with duality.
"A while ago I passed the shield that says there's more in the back than I'll ever see through the windshield," he states. Although the quotation shows Anderson's alterity and narrative stance, it also shows his awareness of something else. He might once have been typecasted as a formula hiker, but he decided to continue to write about his journeys, now with reflecting heirloom.
In contrast to Kerouac, Anderson's Field notes are not looking for plenty of opportunities, but for recourse in the apparently daily routine of the Midwest. Anderson' s journeys stay conspicuous with this attentiveness and never overstretched. Just as notable is Anderson's strong storytelling vocal, which consists of quick humour and excellent miction.
Even before the reader appreciates his subtile humour, Anderson is on another look (in this case "the old hut, encircled by an infestation of double boards") or a bit of swift sapience. He writes concisely and quickly and keeps the reader alert. It is this rectilinear but intelligent vocals that allow Anderson to record so many thoughts in such brief passage.
It' the kind of book you save and read through before you know it. Every memo provides new insight into the importance of details and forces the reader to delve ever more deeply into the world of thought as the book progresses. It is inevitable to read a scene, not because Anderson outsmarts his reader, but because each play can be valued separately and then as part of a poetical composition.
The book has freshened me up as a readership and desires Anderson's keen observation eyeball.