A Disappointing Read from a Spectacular Person

Five years ago, soon after its release, Lynne Cox's Grayson found its way into my hands and then into my heart. A memoir on swimming in the ocean in the company of a baby whale makes for a spiritual meditation on mystery and kindness and mothering. I loved the book. I have re-read it. I have recommended it.

So when I saw her Swimming to Antarctica on the list of Kindle books offered by my library, I jumped for it. I started it with such eager anticipation that I fairly swam through the pages like fish in still water. But then something happened: although her swim maps changed, the language didn't. The text became predictable even as the locations changed. I began to feel that I was treading water or, worse still, becalmed, afloat.

It's a special disappointment that I suspect most readers have felt, who, picking up a book by the writer of a beloved book, discovers it doesn't move. I know that each effort can't be the best, but I can't help wishing I hadn't tried the second bite from the same apple. I think I may need to read Grayson again and remember that the writer is ultimately more important than writing.

As are we writers and readers all.