I Just Want to See Some Palm Trees

finding sally rooney in southwest florida 🦜

I found myself bookless at the Southwest Florida International Airport. Not the kind of place I usually find myself. Not really my scene. Picking up my head to engage with humanity was certainly out of the question. Salt Life, Don Shula’s Steak Houses that stop serving breakfast at 10am, and worst of all, lots of men in flip flops. I was in dire need of something for which to bury my nose.

I had just finished up The Turn of the Screw by Henry James, pool-side at the Marriott in downtown Naples. After my third vodka soda, James’ prose started to slow and blur into this kind of distant horror creep. Like I was being watched by an old english ghost or something. Hard to explain. But I enjoyed the juxtaposition of a 19th century ambient horror masterpiece and a stark white new construction hotel in Florida. Life is so beautiful, I would cry if I could.

I eventually found a corner of a gift shop in SWFI that had some new releases, where I picked up Intermezzo by Sally Rooney. Much like the South, Rooney is really not my speed. But once again, much like the South, it is not meant for me. This is fine. Press for Intermezzo had been almost unavoidable over the past few months, so I figured, why not?

Sally Rooney is Florida. Sally Rooney is the Yoga studio in the strip mall. Slightly elevated, but still consumed en-masse. Sally Rooney is also Stephen King. But unreadable. Fuck, I wish I could write like Sally Rooney. It is distinct, which I appreciate. Stylized and terse. Massive props.

I am almost done with Intermezzo. It has taken me longer than I would have liked it to take me. Mainly because I don’t like it. This is not a loss. I consider it a win. Learning what you do not like is almost as important in learning what you do like.

Just try something new for fuck sake! Try to change your own mind. You are probably not right. Especially if you are man wearing flip flops.