Steps
Most of the time, when I read a book, it doesn’t take me long to forget almost all of what is in it. A couple of things will stick with me if it’s a good book, but most of it will fade. Having this lousy memory can be a good thing, because when it comes to re-reading a book, it’s nearly as new to me as it was the first time through, especially with books that are shelved for a long time after the first read. The Silver Crown, for instance: first read it as a kid, and when it came back into print years later, it was all new again — except for a few bits (such as the crevasse).
Not with Steps. It had been almost 20 years since I last picked it up. I re-read it last week and almost every piece in it was still very fresh in my mind. It’s that kind of book. I wouldn’t say it has haunted me, exactly. It’s more like some of the climactic images — most of which are very disturbing — have stayed put, or I have caused them to stay by regular pondering.
Be warned if you’re curious: some of the stories in this book are seriously messed up. It’s hard to imagine what Jerzy Kosinski must have been like. To write such stuff. It must have been a fearful thing, writing that book.
I’m impressed with the National Book Award people for not dismissing it as a pack of obscenities.