Book Review - Tinkers by Paul Harding

Continuing in my quest to read all past Pulitzer prize novels, I decided to read Tinkers by Paul Harding. Anyone brave enough to title their book, Tinkers, deserves to win a prize. The word tinkers is apparently a difficult word to read, say, and hear which often inspires many interesting jokes as I quickly discovered while reading and discussing this book. But I digress, back to the review.

I like things that are a little "out there."  You know, things that are philosophical or mystical or require deep analysis - things like dreams and Sundance films and...people.  Well, this book was "out there."  Actually, it was a couple blocks north of the neighborhood of "out there."  If "out there" was Mr. Rodgers' Neighborhood, then this book would be the Neighborhood of Make-Believe, or maybe more like a story of a dream had by King Friday the XIII while napping in the Neighborhood of Make-Believe.  This review is starting to get a little "out there," so I'll try to rein it in a little.

This book is about a lot of things, but it is first about a man dying.  The narration takes you through various memories of the man's life and then before you know it, the book is also about the man's father dying.  The narration bounces back and forth between the man and his father's memories and then just when you think you might be close to figuring it out, the book is also about the man's father's father dying.  Then you realize it's actually not about dying at all.  It's a book about a man who fixes clocks (tinker), a man who sells products from a handcart (tinker), and a man who clumsily preaches to save souls (tinker).  I guess you could say it's about tinkers.  Why didn't it just say so in the first place?

I'm going to go a little "out there" and say that this book is a masterful story that captures the delicate balance of joy and sorrow that is life.  Between every paragraph, I could almost hear the echo of Ms. Harrison, my AP English teacher, saying "Tell me more about what this book says about the human experience."  Well, I really really liked what this book had to say about the human experience and how it made me more aware of mine. 

Well done, Mr. Harding.  I give you my stamp of Pulitzer Prize approval.  You had it even before I read this paragraph, but I would have given it to you for this paragraph alone:

"Your cold mornings are filled with the heartache about the fact that although we are not at ease in this world, it is all we have, that it is ours but that it is full of strife, so that all we can call our own is strife; but even that is better than nothing at all, isn't it? And as you split frost-laced wood with numb hands, rejoice that your uncertainty is God's will and His grace toward you and that that is beautiful, and part of a greater certainty, as your own father always said in his sermons and to you at home. And as the ax bites into the wood, be comforted in the fact that the ache in your heart and the confusion in your soul means that you are still alive, still human, and still open to the beauty of the world, even though you have done nothing to deserve it." p. 72

Will someone please read this book so you can discuss it with me?  It's very short and clean, very award-winny, kind of sweet, kind of sad, and very out there.  Please?!  It would be so much fun!