Harold, by Steven Wright

Sometimes you know you’re going to like a book, and then you read it, and it blows you away more than you could have predicted. Such is the case with Steven Wright’s Harold. 

Wright, a standup comedian known for his brilliant, absurd, deadpan one-liners (“It’s a small world, but I wouldn’t want to paint it”), is a comedy hero of mine. I saw his standup show back in the late 90s and it was one of the funniest I’ve seen. 

So I knew I was going to like this book. But instead of just being a collection of funny gags, it’s a surprisingly deep exploration into the mind of a boy in the 1960s. The “story” follows the boy’s random thoughts, many of which are hilarious and all of them are interesting. 

I won’t spoil too much (not that there’s a lot to spoil), but one of the beautiful elements of the story is that the boy pictures every thought he has as a different type of bird flying through an open window in his mind. It’s beautiful. It’s simple. It works. 

Having said all that, there’s a good chance this book was written only for my particular brain. You may read it and find nothing here but some rambling nonsense. This is one of my favorite books of the decade and I highly recommend it. But, if you hate it, I totally get that too. Your mileage may vary. (I also highly recommend the audio book, read by the author himself as only he can.)

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