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A review by richardrbecker
All That Is by James Salter
reflective
relaxing
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
All That Is reads more like a series of short stories interwoven from one man's life and the lives of those around him. At the center of its 40-year span is protagonist Philip Bowman, WW2 navel officer veteran and book editor for a publishing house. He lived at a time when the publishing world was intimate, houses were quaint, and European travel was relatively common among people of this status.
What stands out is Salter's writing style, which is tight and economical. Each chapter is laid out like its own story, some with questions to ask and others with questions to answer. Readers will never know which to expect, especially as there is no central plot beyond experiencing life as it unfolds and capturing it as evidence that it happened.
There is plenty to take in despite Bowmen's immortal loneliness. His first marriage unsurprisingly fails before he entertains a series of affairs that never coalesce. He meets up with friends, whom we learn a surprising amount about, at parties, over drinks, and in hotel bedrooms. And when he does take it to the bedroom, he reminds us that sex scenes aren't a modern invention but a literary tradition. Perhaps the only difference is their purpose.
He does something in All That Is that many readers don't often appreciate. He looks at someone's life and all the lives he brushes up against and allows us to live it with them. That said, you can learn from it, but don't expect to take much more away than a snapshot of a different time — one that some people genuinely disdain because it carries a waning sense of masculinity with it. Add to that Bwoman's stoicism, likely because he survived the war, and appreciate this is a book about external observation more than internal reflection. You know Bowman, but you never really know him.
I enjoyed it, but I can easily see why some people won't. Perhaps it is too much of the author's book to be read by other authors to be as lasting as his earlier work. But then again, part of me believes that maybe he wrote it more for himself than anyone else. Ergo, he says, "There comes a time when you realize that everything is a dream, and the only things preserved in writing have any possibility of being real." All That Is, it seems to me, is what Salter hoped to preserve, at least for a little while.
What stands out is Salter's writing style, which is tight and economical. Each chapter is laid out like its own story, some with questions to ask and others with questions to answer. Readers will never know which to expect, especially as there is no central plot beyond experiencing life as it unfolds and capturing it as evidence that it happened.
There is plenty to take in despite Bowmen's immortal loneliness. His first marriage unsurprisingly fails before he entertains a series of affairs that never coalesce. He meets up with friends, whom we learn a surprising amount about, at parties, over drinks, and in hotel bedrooms. And when he does take it to the bedroom, he reminds us that sex scenes aren't a modern invention but a literary tradition. Perhaps the only difference is their purpose.
He does something in All That Is that many readers don't often appreciate. He looks at someone's life and all the lives he brushes up against and allows us to live it with them. That said, you can learn from it, but don't expect to take much more away than a snapshot of a different time — one that some people genuinely disdain because it carries a waning sense of masculinity with it. Add to that Bwoman's stoicism, likely because he survived the war, and appreciate this is a book about external observation more than internal reflection. You know Bowman, but you never really know him.
I enjoyed it, but I can easily see why some people won't. Perhaps it is too much of the author's book to be read by other authors to be as lasting as his earlier work. But then again, part of me believes that maybe he wrote it more for himself than anyone else. Ergo, he says, "There comes a time when you realize that everything is a dream, and the only things preserved in writing have any possibility of being real." All That Is, it seems to me, is what Salter hoped to preserve, at least for a little while.