There are certain books that sit on my shelf for the sole purpose of fond remeniscence. Sure, I may read them again at a later or very distant later time. But really they are there to serve as a snapshot of the wonderful time I spent reading through it’s pages. I had a moment today where I passed by my very valueless copy of A Death in the Family written by James Agee. (click here)

Yes, It would be great to have a crisp, first edition of this truly amazing novel but because I spent time pouring over this particular copy I want to keep it forever. Just looking at it’s cover makes me want to jump back into it and reread certain sections. Especially the opening essay entitled Knoxville: Summer, 1915 which is absolutely lovely and transports me to the very place Agee writes about. This is probably not too far of a stretch because I spent several years living just down the street from the place that he describes. So even though I am, if only slightly, biased I think that I could share the same visceral experience that his writing brings with someone who has never known this town.

This is one of the saddest novels I have ever read. It is full of raw, pure emotion from the perspectives of such a thoughtful variety of characters. It is unusual to read narrative from a young child that is believable but Agee does a tremendous job doing just that. It is the type of prose that one senses can only come from personal experience.

I highly recommend A Death in the Family and wonder if there are others out there who cherish their copy of this fine classic novel as much as I do.

We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville, Tennessee, in the time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child…

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