The Interrogative Mood by Padgett Powell is a compilation of questions strung together without discernible order, importance, or intention. Reading the first paragraph, which includes queries on horses, love, athletic ability, potatoes, and Constantinople, produces an acute sense of confusion but also intrigue. Is this it? Is this the whole book?
Well, yes and no. Yes in the sense that all that is on the page is question after question, seemingly unconnected and entirely at random. No in the sense that the reaction to this is incredibly personal. It becomes almost a private psychological study into yourself as you work through questions. Those who do not dismiss it almost immediately as pointless (and there will be people who do that, I know some of them) will find themselves automatically and internally answering each question.
There are questions that have immediate answers; short questions that have factual and definite answers, either about the reader or their knowledge. Then there are questions which probe a little deeper, about fundamental morals and decisions. There are general questions and there are very specific questions. Some of the specifics are simply not applicable to one’s experience (many of the America-centric ones, in my case); and others tap so accurately at a particular event in your life it brings on a full Proustian rush of memory.
The further you go into the book, the more you will think of your own questions. Some topics have only one question about them, while others may have many follow ups as the author chips away a single idea. Sometimes a follow up question comes fifty pages after the subject was originally raised. Themes emerge throughout the book, and some questions are repeated. I found myself asking my own follow up questions, wondering why the author didn’t. Waiting for and willing the questions that I wanted to answer. But no one hears or sees my answers, so why does it matter whether or not the question is asked?
That is where the real beauty of Powell’s book comes in: the reader’s reaction to questions. From a simple “Why do you want to know about that?” in response to an enquiry about milk bottle tops, to embarrassment, shyness, and perhaps outrage at the more personal and private questions. It is a great exercise in introspection, coupled with a hint of voyeurism. You may or may not wish to share your answers with anyone, but there is the feeling that just by asking them, the author has an idea of who you are. Similarly, the reader starts to build up an idea of Powell based on the questions he is asking.
The book ends without fanfare, just a simple parting; the reader and the author like strangers on a train who share their stories but will never see each other again.
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