Linked stories given a fable-like telling, an investigation into the 'science' of theology, a desire to find a plan, a pattern, a cause or reason for what happens to us, and a meditation on love. That, I suppose, is the essence of Thornton Wilder's The Bridge of San Luis Rey and I had great hopes of it as the premise was so interesting and it came strongly recommended, but it failed to make an impact on me, I'm afraid. I found myself feeling glad it was short, and that I'd had enough when I reached the end.
Why was that? I can't love every book I pick up, though I can certainly appreciate the beauty and precision of the writing here, the economy of the prose, the intellect behind it. Is it because it reads like a collection of short stories rather than a novel and thus my appetite for something more substantial, something with more marked rhythms was not satisfied? Maybe that's it, or perhaps I just read it on the wrong day, in the wrong mood.
I'll say no more and hand it over to all of you in the hope that you fared better than I did.
