The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry. Rating: Magnificent.

“No Man Is an Island; Every Book Is a World.”

If you were going to run away from your old life forever, taking with you only a crate of 400 books, your life's savings, and a wide brimmed hat - I would recommend that this be one of the 400 books. Not because it is light to carry or will fit well among the other books without causing a fuss in the cramped quarters, but because it is a book that you will cherish reading during blissfully solitary evenings in your cash-rent studio apartment in a city far away.

If you are not planning an escape from the suffocation of your current job and life and shadowy past, read it anyway. The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry is, beyond question, one of the most lovable books I have ever laid eyes on. I start with this book not because it is the most recent one that I have read but because it is exactly what I hope this blog will be: a love letter to books. I love books - have always loved books - and they have treated me well in exchange for my affections. I am not overly selective in my reading, and consume literature at a voracious pace (especially now that I do not have that job to overshadow the hours of my days which I could otherwise spend afloat on a sea of books).

So. Down to business.

The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by the brilliant Gabrielle Zevin

 ...is quite simply wonderful. It tugged me gently past skepticism at the style into an overwhelming investment in every character. The primary protagonist - for there are many, in my esteem - is the middle-aged A.J. Fikry, whose life is summarily decaying. He is doing an excellent job of thoroughly wallowing in the mourning of his late wife, two years dead when we join the story. His bookstore, located on sleepy Alice Island, is failing - thanks in no small part to his abject snobbery. He is not a terrifically likeable character at first blush.

Let me digress from synopsis for a moment to highlight something critical to my own literary experience (and, I hope, to yours) - it is absolutely unnecessary to like a protagonist. In fact, I dislike novels in which I like the protagonist too much (see my upcoming review of the deplorable "Last Chinese Chef"). The best, of course, is to love a protagonist without liking them too much. That way, you can truly enjoy their growth and development and failure in equal measures.

Back to business. The novel bumps quickly into a plot when the unpalatable A.J. Fikry has change thrust upon him by replacement of his most valuable possession with his most inexplicable and burdensome one. His prized copy of Poe's "Tamerlane" is stolen, and as he wonders what else could possibly go wrong in his downward-spiraling life, someone (aptly enough) leaves a child in the children's section of his store. She does not at first awaken a previously silent part of him that discovers love and affection through the magic of her laughter, and thank goodness or I would have quit the book immediately. Instead, through the mere fact of being an Interesting Development, the child draws Fikry's community around him in an unrejectable way. Through the love and generosity of his community, the curmudgeonly Fikry discovers fellowship and the quiet kind of joy that comes with it. Without his consent or realization, his isolation dissolves, and Fikry has a family and friends that love and care for him deeply. At some point (which I shall not disclose) the format of the novel becomes clear - at first, it seems a bit overwrought and purposeless, but it rapidly becomes one of the most moving parts of the reader experience.

Now, for Spoilers.

A critical factor in my judgment of any book is it's ending. You've been warned. 

This ending is one of the best I have read. It is well attended to but not overly tidy; there are no loose plot points, but not every piece of the end is what the reader thought she hoped for. There is deep and inescapable sadness, because the story (rightly) continues well past the point at which it could have ended. There is a wedding - not perfect in every way, not overly magical, but lovely regardless - the point at which a contemporary feature film would roll credits. 

And then the story goes on to a more natural, if less romantic, endpoint. Death, as it always does, intrudes. Like the unwelcome boss who pokes his head into your office to find out if you have time for a chat, you dread it's arrival, pray that it will not come - but come it does. The death seems almost to be escapable, but it is not. It is the saddest death - the kind that we all dread - a slow loss of ability to tell the people you love the fact of your affection. It is deeply, permanently moving. I had to set down the book, go and make myself a cup of tea, and soothe myself before coming back to the book. It was a perfect, devastating death.

Then, the story goes on.

That is perhaps one of the things I love best about The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry - the story goes on. It goes on past natural end points, not in the aggravating style of the last Lord of the Rings film, not in a series of afterwords and epilogues, but because the story is not yet over. Just as we must go on after the wedding, just as we must go on after death, just as we must go on to the next town to escape notice - the story must continue. 

In summary, this book is abjectly beautiful. As Fikry himself would say: "Every word the right one and exactly where it should be. That's basically the highest compliment I can give." 

Rating: Magnificent. 

Possible ratings: Magnificent, Divine, Satisfactory, Tiresome, Lamentable, Execrable. This is a blog about words, what rating system did you expect?