The title, [b:A Line Made by Walking|30971749|A Line Made by Walking|Sara Baume|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1488552364l/30971749._SY75_.jpg|51589488], is taken from a performance art piece where the artist, Richard Long, in 1967 created a short, straight track worn by footsteps back and forth through an expanse of grass and builds sculptures which fall apart naturally. He specializes in "barely-there art." The narrator of the book is an artist in her twenties who has read up and delineates with "I test myself" on dozens of such works of performance art throughout her story. Examples are blowing up a shed, cats striking piano keys, man stepping up and down off a stool at thirty steps a minute as long as he can, acrobats hoisting themselves up a flagpole, a studio cell without media or communication for a year (Hsieh), "This way brouwn" (1960-64) about being lost & seeking directions, daily postcards saying "I got up" (Kawara 1968-1979), tiny birds made from fingernail clippings and glue (Hawkinson), moving a cement block wall back and forth across a thoroughfare (Yilin), penis amputation (Schwarzkogler), dress made of electric lights (Tanaka, 1956), What Does an Artist Look Like (New Yorker photos of artists 1999-2001). "Why must I automatically assume that every strange object is a sculpture, that every public display of unorthodox behaviour is an act of performance?" wonders Frankie. She has moved into her late grandma's cottage in the Irish countryside for the summer while coping with her depression and spends her solitary days bicycling, lying on the carpet, listening to the radio, watching TV, reading and thinking about her childhood and OCD impulses. She also has begun a project photographing dead animals and the chapters are labeled for such critters: hare, rabbit, badger, rat. Her mum visits occasionally, as does her sister. She has an appreciation for the quotidian and solitude which reminds me of Claire Louise Bennett's [b:Pond|25333047|Pond|Claire-Louise Bennett|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1428656359l/25333047._SY75_.jpg|45069198] or Kate Zambreno's new novel, [b:Drifts|48585697|Drifts|Kate Zambreno|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1578676099l/48585697._SY75_.jpg|73920928] and which I found soothing. It was a memorable reading pleasure. ( )

While I loved Sara Baume's SPILL SIMMER FALTER WITHER, I found this one very disappointing. It starts from nowhere and ends up going nowhere. There is a stasis that becomes, finally, just plain annoying. I did finish reading it, but kinda felt like I was wasting my time. No. I WAS wasting my time. Not recommended. ( )

It has taken me a day of reflection to decide how to review this second novel from Irish writer Sara Baume. Her first novel, Spill Simmer Falter Wither, was as wonderful as its title. I read it as an audio book and loved it, so was eager for Baume’s second novel. A Line Made By Walking (and she is terrific with titles) is sensitive, funny, sad, and glorious in its language—Sara Baume is a gifted writer. At the same time, I thought perhaps the novel was a little baggy and I oscillated between strongly identifying with the protagonist Frankie’s emotions and perceptions and finding her irritatingly self-absorbed. Then again, I’m 66 and she is 26; then again not to assert that I’m not also irritatingly self-absorbed. So my 24 hours of reflection led me to conclude that my reservations were really an expression of how deeply the perspicacity of Baume’s characters touched me.

The novel is about a young artist finding herself. She has a kind and “perspicacious” mother and a recently deceased grandmother into whose house Frankie moves for a time. Staying there, Frankie wanders, explores, reminisces. She launches an art project, taking photographs of dead woodland creatures she comes across on her walks and bike rides. This is counterpointed by her mental catalogue of artworks she has seen: “Works about Lightening, I test myself: Walter de Maria, The Lightening Field...”. There are many of these, studded throughout the text of the story, each with a brief description and Frankie’s reaction. They are real and listed at the back of the book, so you can go to the internet and look them up. It is like a gift and surprise within the book—unexpected and delightful. I haven’t looked them all up but plan to. (Apart from The Lightening Field mentioned above which is land art that I love, most are unfamiliar to me.)

This device of referencing artworks, it occurs to me, reminds me of Saunders’ Lincoln in the Bardo. Both works set their central tale in a context or framework of other voices, which become a chorus enriching the narrative.

Doubtless, A Line Made By Walking would not be everyone’s cup of tea, but most books do not elicit in me the depth of feeling and reflection that this one has. Eagerly awaiting the third novel from Sara Baume. ( )

Baume's second novel is as poignant as her first. An artist in her 20s, Frances, is struggling with the precarity of contemporary life in Ireland, and of her own emotional state.

Through the book, Baume presents a philosophical study on being young today, of the difficulties of balance and what it means to be an outsider (or whether everyone really is). She cleverly and brilliantly uses contemporary artists' works, described in staggered sections throughout the book, to explore this philosophy. The result is brilliantly engaging and simultaneously rewarding; a beautiful exploration by an excellent author. ( )

Beautiful, melancholy, atmospheric. ( )