In yesterday's post I made mention of playwright Lawrence Krauser's novel Lemon. Of course, Wendall, Lemon's protagonist, has a passionate affair with a lemon after his girlfriend leaves him. At the time the book came out (it says May 2004 on Powell's but I believe it had to have been an earlier edition), my fledgling book club was about to disband as I was embarking on what would be a three year extended visit to Los Angeles. (Side note: I did try to start a book club there but at the first meeting, we had to cut the discussion of Middlesex short because everyone wanted to watch the latest episode of Survivor. I kid you not. That was my one and only attempt at a book club in L.A. Don't get me wrong--There are fantastic book clubs there and people do read, mine just wasn't meant to be.) Anyway, back to the other book club and Lemon. Everyone. hated. it. passionately. And that made it the best meeting we'd ever had. We argued over which parts we hated more. We pondered our own proclivities for certain inanimate objects. (What's said in the book club, stays in the book club.) I believe there may have been some yelling. Then we all had to admit that since we felt so strongly about it, maybe we actually loved it. I think we did.
Image: Susan Sarandon washes herself with lemons in a scene from Louis Malle's Atlantic City (1980).
I speak from experience. 'Middlesex' appears to be cursed as a book-club choice. Somehow, the discussion of the book got switched to online dating. Sigh.
Posted by: Pepper | January 24, 2006 at 01:29 PM