The Pleasure of My Company: A Novel
Date: 01 October, 2003 — $13.96 — Book
Oh Steve. Mr. Martin. More and more he becomes my hero. When I was 19 and living in San Francisco, I sat in the last row and watched Picasso at the Lapine Agile. I loved it. I don’t remember much, but I was so impressed at Steve Martin’s versatility. He was a comic–that Steve Martin–and here he wrote a touching play.
A few years later, I picked up Shop Girl and enjoyed it. Again, it has been a while since I read it. I remember there being criticism because of the May/December romance/creepiness of an older man. But overall, I remember liking it.
Last night I finished The Pleasure of My Company. Again, I am very impressed with Steve Martin. Here is a comic who didn’t let himself be pigeon holed by the title. He is a writer, an art collector, a comic. I could be like him some day. This book was mostly wonderful. Immediately the reader is able to slip inside the mind of Daniel, the protaganist. Immediately. Instead of setting out his rules at the beignning, we are allowed to discover them and understand them as he does.
Daniel is obsessive compulsive. A counter, an alphabetizer, a rule maker and rule follower, a shut-in. Over the course of the story, we struggle with him to step over a curb and understand the panic 8 inches induce without pity. The end was a too little fairytale, but I can overlook the last five pages for the hundred that come before.
Steve Martin puts the reader in Daniel’s uncomfortable shoes. I appreciate his ability to do so–without judgement. Just a strong voice.