It is a rare book that combines soaring, original language with a grab-you-by-the-lapels or
tap-into-your-soul storyline. However, a book that manages at least one of these gifts will stay with you always because it will change you.

One book that changed me is Susan Fromberg Schaffer's Madness of a Seduced Woman, published in 1983. I don't remember why I bought the book. Decades after reading it, I could recall only bits and pieces of the plot; this, I find strange because in recently revisiting the book, I found a compelling tale based on actual events. The story may have changed me in ways I didn't realize (it keenly observed life, death, love, obsession and cultural expectations) but it was the author's craft with language that never left me. Schaeffer (1940-2011), a poet as well as author, had me gasping in awe as she presented the world in ways my senses had never noticed. Her prose awoke in me a long-forgotten dream I had about writing, of thoughts and universes and possibilities I might create using my own words. She showed me what was possible with language. I felt compelled to try.

Once aware of the conjuring power of language, I viewed all books differently. Plots may remain the push/pull of every book, overcoming a paucity of style. A good storyline that is conveyed in evocative language, however, is the rarest treasure.

That brings me to a problem I'm having with The Stones of Summer by Dow Mossman, published in 1973 and brought to a wider audience in its second incarnation through the 2003 documentary “Stone Reader”. After viewing the movie (at my public library, no less), I knew I had to have the book. The re-issue was shrewdly marketed by Barnes & Noble in conjunction with the movie's release. The hardcover book is nearly 600 pages and weighty as a real stone. Its book jacket replicates many of the proclamations of literary brilliance mentioned in the movie.

After all this excitement, I let the book sit on my shelf for nearly a decade before I started reading it. Don' t ask me why. I've done plenty of stranger things I can't explain. I re-read the book jacket, churning up new anticipation for the joy I was about to receive. I opened the book and began to read. Almost immediately, I felt rewarded. Like Schaeffer, Mossman described the world in original and breathtaking ways. The writing was so rich and organic that I forgave the surprising overabundance of the word “like” – creating similes when metaphors might have been more even more powerful.

Readers of The Stones of Summer seem divided between calling it the best or the worst book they ever read. Fifty pages in, I found myself slipping from the former group as my honeymoon with Mossman was challenged by so much inventively descriptive verbiage in search of action. Dialogue that had danced off the page started tripping me up in its eagerness to mimic the natural chaos of thought and speech. Forward motion became weighed down by words. I wondered how far into the book I might have to slog before being lifted once again. I wasn’t ready to fall in with the “worst book” camp but so many other unread books beckoned. I caved. I closed The Stones of Summer. There is genius at work in this book. It sits on my desk as I write this. I will return it to the bookshelf and try again one day. Maybe.