I May Have More Affection for Gertrude Stein than I am Willing to Admit. Thoughts on “The Making of Americans”.

I lugged “The Making of Americans” halfway around the world, on flights to and from here in Louisiana to The Netherlands, where I attended Roadburn (a metal fest). A lot of people commented on its sheer bulk. At 1022 pages (plus a couple of introductions), its a chunky book. People who watched me bring it onto the plane half joked that it should count as a carry-on item, and to be honest, I was a little nervous about some overzealous flight attendant asking me to stick it under a seat to see if it would fit. I read about 400 pages of it while in the air, and the rest while sitting in the front room and reading room of the little cottage I now inhabit. Stein thought that this work would be her legacy, and appeared to have been a little upset that it was not. She thought she had written something to rival Ulysses; critics at the time were less kind, and the book has not occupied a place in the canon. Someone pointed out that it gets “rediscovered” every few decades, and that seems to be…