Leaving Home (1987)

I must have read this before. I remembered parts of the introduction, with the lovely observations on living in Denmark when practically the only word you know is "tak" (= thank you) and his family's love of sweet corn: "We were prepared to resist atheistic Communism, immoral Hollywood, hard liquor, gambling and dancing, smoking, fornication, but if Satan had come around with sweet corn, we at least would have listened to what he had to sell. We might not have bought it but we would've had him in and given him a cup of coffee."

Happily, I don't remember the stories, so they've come to me fresh and lovely. Of all Keillor's books that I've read over the year, this is one of the very best. I slipped effortlessly into Lake Wobegon, cocooned in a feeling that I know this place, these people, these sorrows and these joys, and have always known them, in the very heart of my being. Garrison Keillor can't be as wise, as funny, as kind, as sympathetic and as perceptive as his authorial voice -- he's a human being, after all -- but it still makes me dream of a world where people really are like that.

Don't expect a plot. Don't expect non-stop slapstick humour. Don't expect people to be unfailingly good, never falling prey to meanness or spite. Just expect a series of insightful, philosophical, funny, sad, moving, real (in a kind of fairytale way, if that makes sense) visits in a quiet town where, so Mr Keillor says, nothing much happens. If that sounds good to you, I'm sure you'd enjoy passing some time in Lake Wobegon.

Some of my favourite passages include a young man contemplating failing one of his final high-school exams and realising it doesn't really matter: "Life is so wonderful that it is all we can do simply to experience it, and all the things people think are important--none of it matters if it makes us less able to live."

A man going through the effects of his late father, who had walked out on his young family for another woman: "Pictures of his father and the woman ... Agnes. Val couldn't look at them more than two seconds, they were so ordinary, like any other married couple standing by a car, sitting on steps. And a poem David had written her--his father had never written him a poem but here was a poem. Val read it and felt weak. He had to go sit upstairs and turn on the radio. It was like a cave-in down deep in the earth under your house, an event so far in the past he never thought about it, now moving, and his own life shifted and sagged, and he felt afraid."

Swedish flu: "A lot of people have been sick in Lake Wobegon, and it could be due to the weather. Norway is a seafaring country and if you have Norwegian blood you're happier and you operate best when you're cold, wet, and sick to your stomach. Misery is what keeps a Norwegian going, and in warm sunny weather such as we've had, they get sick and go to pieces and get a case of Swedish flu caused by weakness on account of a lack of suffering. (Swedish flu is like Asian flu but in addition you feel like it's your fault.)"

Oh, how I wish I could write like that! ( )

Useful, but not necessary to have listened to a Lake Wobegon monologue, as the stories contained in this book are in the same vein, and could well do with being read aloud

Slow and sweet to read

Like most of Keillor's radio show, this is pleasant, entertaining, and occasionally hilarious. Overall, it's like nice hot soup, but not a gourmet meal. ( )

A collection of Lake Wobegon monologues from "A Prairie Home Companion". Droll, funny, companionable and as told by an old friend. Sometimes Keillor tries too hard to be clever or witty, but he is at his best in this genre. ( )