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I have a weird relationship with plot. If it’s “not there��, I feel smart �� look at me, I am surfing words and sentences. I do it for the love of language. If it is there in a tangible way that I can point at, I get giddy under the surface. Phew. What a relief. Do I get a pass? I get to go along with the energy of the story and allow it to make up my mind for me. What comes to mind with the first category is something by Ali Smith �� the seasonal quartet, for instance. There is the briefest sliver of a plot and a lot of jumping around, wordplay, poetry, beauty and alliteration. For the second category? Maybe something like Stoner. A -> B -> C. The author is basically overtly signalling to me, in so many words, how I should feel, what I should think, etc. All that to say, Max Porter is comfortably both categories, and that’s beautiful to see.

I read Grief is the Thing with Feathers earlier this year. I was blown away by how hard I fell for the emotions, what Porter was able to do in so little space. It seems random at times, what he is doing, but it’s all meticulously selected �� much like the stand-up comedian, whose act you are led to believe is just a casual pow-wow that he hasn’t been practicing for months. Lanny takes it up a notch. Porter plays with perspective shift, with wacky viewpoints, with physical spacing and orientation of sentences on the page, and ultimately with your heart.

Lanny is special, but I am not sure how. He is just a joy to be around, but the frustrations of his father and the defensiveness of his mother make us think that it may be something long-standing and burdensome. I don’t see that, but then again, I am not Lanny’s caretaker. I feel closer to Pete, the art teacher who enjoys being somewhat of a mentor for Lanny and his artistic gift. I also adore the satellite views granted to the reader by Dead Papa Toothwort �� the natural spirit/aura/energy that is the village caretaker, of sorts. He hears some amazing tidbits on his journeys around, patrolling. These include: “How are your knees, it’s an astroturf-burn not cancer��, “A dick that big should be on a leash��, “Marxist knitters unite��, and of course, my very favourite, “Piss off Alan��.

Any work able to get this much emotion out of me, this much of a flaring up, this much of my heart beating, sweating, mind racing, anything like that �� it’s bound to get 4 stars, at the very least. This one does just that. It missed a special something to hit the 5 mark for me, but I’m not sure just what that was. I am hopeful, so I’ll keep waiting on Porter. I do know as a matter of fact that the 5-star work won’t be The Death of Francis Bacon though �� I am usually hopeless with art.