I have always fancied myself a writer, an award-winning story just waiting underneath the daily chores of living. I have come to the realization that I will probably never discover that diamond in the rough, that Pulizer Prize winning story that has yet to surface. I will probably never publish anything worth more than this free blog. And that's okay. Instead, I have decided to look to those who have won, who have managed to unlock hidden passages of the American Experience and have shared them with the rest of us.
My goal, at the age of 28, is to read the entire list of Pulitzer Prize Winners for Fiction. At the moment, that totals a number of 92 books, 1918 - present. (For those of you doing the math, there were a few years the award was not given.) Sadly to say, at the age of 28, I have only read three: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, and Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout. All three were worth the time to read and, in my opinon, deserving of the award.
In committing to read this prodigious list of novels, however, I realize that at some point I will encounter Gone with the Wind. There are thousands of women in the world, I am sure, that imagine themselves as Scarlet O'Hara in the arms of one Rhet Butler. I, however, am not one of them. For vanity's sake, I will endure.
But for now, book number four: Gilead by Marilynne Robinson, winner of the Pulitzer in 2005. The Washington Post claims that it is "So serenely beautiful and written in prose so gravely measured and thoughtful, that one feels touched with grace just to read it." I will let you know how it goes.
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