A year or so ago I read “Alice off the page” in the New Yorker, and thought it was the most moving work I’d read in a long time. I passed it on to my brother-in-law, John, who then sent it on to just about everyone else we know. Now it’s been turned into a short book (78 pages). There is a great article on Mr. Trillin, and on his book, in the Observer this week.

I’ve always been fond of Trillin’s work, and Hadley has always loved his articles in the New Yorker. She wants to move to Nova Scotia because of how his describes life on the island (I’m willing to go with her). This article is different, though I’m not quite sure why. There is an aspirational component to it, I’m sure. Calvin Trillin represents potential for the not-so-young man (and I am one of those); attentive, loyal, funny, and not so egotistical to misunderstand what matters in the world.

There are a few stories that have surprised me with my own tears in the past ten or so years; often they involve older men who can’t do what they used to do. This one is different though, as it got to me by bringing out what I should be doing. It gave me hope for my own future, but also a challenge.

The interviews I’ve read say that Mr. Trillin is surprised by the response to this work. Isn’t that just perfect. At our best we do work that resonates in ways we don’t expect. Calvin Trillin sets a top notch example, doesn’t he?

“At this point words become inadequate and I return to the great discovery I began preparing you for, the knowledge of the one surface with which the world offered itself to this art. Offered, but not yet gave. Accepting it would (and still does) require endless work.

Consider for a moment how much work would be required for an artist who wished to master all surfaces; after all, no one thing is just like another. He wasn’t concerned with knowing the body in general, nor the face or the hand (none of which exists anyhow); but rather all bodies, all faces, all hands. This is a task! And how simple and serious it is, how completely devoid of temptation and promise; how completely unpretentious.

A craft develops that appears to be that of an immortal; it is so broad, so infinite and beyond boundaries, and so dedicated to a process of constant learning. Where to find a patience adequate to this craft?”

From “Rodin” by Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Daniel Slager)