Why the Novel Matters

The poet Rainer Maria Rilke once wrote that music could lift him up. Of course there’s nothing remarkable about that – only he then added: and put me down somewhere else. I recognise that quote so well, especially when it comes to literature. The last time I experienced that sensation was last winter after reading Claire Keegan’s novel Small Things Like These. It’s a short novel and I read it in the space of a couple of hours. When I finished it, I remained in my chair with the book lowered in my lap for a few minutes, completely filled by its emotions and moods. After a while I got to my feet and vanished into the daily round, the impressions the novel had made on me slowly dwindling until there was barely anything left other than a certain feeling that came over me when I turned my thoughts to it.