book review: The Girl on the Fridge

A huge part of decorating my house was finding a place for all of my "entertainment property" - books, music and movies. What I needed was a bookshelf, something with several tiers where I could separate my collected media for convenient access and attractive display, but my discriminating eye couldn't find the right one at a store. So, like I had done previously with a TV stand and several picture frames, I enlisted the help of my dad, who used to be a carpenter. That was until emphysema made it impossible for him to work in such a dusty enviornment as a workshop. Still, our garage is filled with pieces of scrap wood and every power tool you can think of. Once the rest of the furniture had been situated in my living room, I sat down with a pencil and started graphing out the designs for the perfect bookshelf.

Maneuvered carefully through the front door, the six-and-a-half foot monstrosity fit snuggly in the corner next to the couch. Even before being filled, this was not a bookshelf to be messed with. The thing was taller than me, and as it sat there staring over my head, I felt that I hadn't gained a piece of furniture as a much as a roommate. For a few days I would pause and say "hi" whenever I passed it on my way out the door.

The top, short shelf was sized for CDs and the second for DVDs. The third shelf down I reserved for paperback books and the fourth for hardcovers. Below that, my collection of growler bottles from the local breweries I'd visited, and the bottom was for various magazines and board games. For a little while, the two middle shelves weren't quite full, and I spent that summer cruising garage sales for classic reads that I'd always felt belonged on a shelf as well as on my list of "have reads". Walden and The Great Gatsby didn't intrigue me quite like Kurt Vonnegut and David Sedaris, though. When I realized that my real enjoyment came from modern literature, I enlisted the help of my friends to find more exciting reads. One such recommendation was Etgar Keret, and my discovery of his work came recently when, pressed for Christmas gift ideas, I gave my mom the names of some books from my bucket list.

The Girl on the Fridge didn't sit on my enormous bookshelf nearly as long as The Iliad or 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea have. When I finished Pride and Prejudice, which I had been reading since before Thanksgiving, I picked it up the following morning. A mutual friend of the guy who'd first suggested it to me had recently related how he couldn't put it down. Looking for such an experience, over my morning coffee I started on a discovery that opened my eyes way better than the caffeine ever could. I knew I would have this read within a week.

Describing Keret's stories seems silly, as they are so short (many of them only a couple pages) that anyone who's read them would simply proclaim, "read them yourself!" The power that Keret wields so expertly is that he says a lot with a little. The stores in The Girl on the Fridge are absurd depictions of moments. Practically poignant and shockingly strange, each one is a tiny little adventure into the imagination of a true modern man. They will elicit a personal connection while simultaneously tapping into your ability to visualize the unfamiliar and outlandish, causing you to question, "is this okay?", but never whether to turn to the next page.