light years

Life is weather.
Life is meals.
Lunches on a blue checked cloth on which salt has spilled.
The smell of tobacco.
Brie, yellow apples, wood-handled knives.

James Salter, in one of my all-time favorite books, Light Years.

I met James Salter in Portland in July of 2004, and I asked him why he didn’t write another book on marriage.  Referring to Light Years, he said, “Doesn’t this say it all?”

It is one of my favorite books.  I’ve read it three times.  What he says he says brilliantly and poetically.  But I believe there’s more to say.

11 thoughts on “light years

  1. I’ve just finished Light Years myself — for the first time. Absolutely stunning, but so is much of his work. Salter can gut you with a simple sentence. He makes me lean back in my chair and leak out small, sad sounds and then he stabs me. It’ll hurt. Not many writer’s can do that.


  2. Brad Green, I owe you an apology. I can’t believe I never replied to your wonderful comment. So sorry. Light Years is stunning, isn’t it? I’ve read some of his other works, but nothing gets me quite like this one.


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