The Professor's House

I found it almost unbearable to consult my writer's gut about reflecting, pen-wise, on Willa Cather's The Professor's House. Like Death Comes for the Archbishop, this quiet novel eludes any classic form of literary criticism—the impression is too shifting, too flexible. To understand it is to feel it, first and foremost. 

And feel it you will—as long as you don't resist the places Cather wants to take you. It is a novel that requires entry to the pit of the stomach, to the stem of the brain, and what it leaves cannot be traced. For that reason, I'll simply express my undying love, gratitude and reverence for a novel that ultimately breaks the peripheries of the written form—a piece of pioneering in its own right.

Please, with all sincerity, read it.