bout thrice yearly I attempt to read , Ocean Vuong’s critically acclaimed novel. It happens at random intervals. Either when the mood strikes or following a warm personal recommendation. In my dismay, I question whether the inability to read this MUST-READ is a is exactly the kind of book I like. Nonetheless, with each attempt I stumble anew on the same old obstacle. Writing in the dreaded second person. A rhetorical choice I cannot take unless strictly bound to a quote. A “you” point of view genuinely distresses me. Years ago, I found a hardcover of by Sigrid Nunez. A book about adopting a dead friend’s dog. Yet even that, the most noble of themes, the dog, couldn’t break through my second-person block. All I could think of was: Why is she talking to me? A few chapters in of “you this” and “you that”, I had to leave. “You” is all I could hear, not the dog, not the protagonists, not the narrative. Till this very day I have no memory of the plot. is a cautionary tale in my repertoire; know your limits. Maybe one day I’ll overcome this strange aversion. I guess I’ll never know unless I keep trying.
