Tenth of December

It took me too long to decide whether Tenth of December is pathos or bathos, compassion or cruelty. I'm going with kindness, because Saunders seems too aware and insightful to be nasty. Compassion takes many forms and I think this is one that I hadn't seen before.

They're trying their best; they just don't know any better. Most of Saunders's protagonists are slow-motion train wrecks: no prefrontal cortex, no impulse control or foresight. Barely human and yet oh so human. Saunders shows us their inner voices, and they sure are ridiculous—but aren't we all? Who of us isn't a train wreck? Each story is excruciating to read. We all know what's coming, and we all know people like those, and we wish there was something we could do to help... but just like in real life, there isn't.

I wonder if Saunders is pulling a fast one. Aiming for different audiences with different purposes: trying to get each of us to recognize something in ourselves and grow. Some readers may think twice about the importance of keeping up with the Joneses; some may learn to pause before judging our fellow. I'm not smart enough to figure it out.

The bottom line, though, is that I really didn't enjoy the book. I'm glad I read it, glad for the opportunity to think, but most of all I'm just glad it's over with.