First Impressions of Townie

     I am actually having trouble reading this book. I can't concentrate on much of what Dubus is saying because I feel as if the story isn't going anywhere. Granted, I'm only 46 pages in, but I think something key about memoirs is that their plot inches along. It happened in The Tender Bar. As well. The plot just doesn't move. It takes so long to get going, then you only have a moment of enjoyment for the last 50-100 pages you've read.
     The reason I enjoyed The Tender Bar so much was because of the constant, beautiful language that Moehringer used. It made you forget about how slow the story actually was, and when one finally arrived at one of the high points, it would overwhelm them. This changes with Townie because Dubus' linguistic skills are not even close to that of Moehringer's. They are wildly pedestrian; he describes his already boring life with your average writer's word choice. Moehringer talked constantly about how he expanded his vocabulary; Dubus does no such thing. While Dubus is still talented, I feel as if he is writing to write if that makes sense. He seems as if he's taken the joy of the act out of the work. It is as if he takes away his artistic integrity. As I continue to trudge through Townie, I may choose to follow up to this. Maybe not. We will see.