Lost Property: Memoirs and Confessions of a Bad Boy

Ben Sonnenberg may rue that "in my worst recurring dream I'm cut at a party by Henry James," but James would be the loser. "Lost Property" takes up post-JFK New York City where Dawn Powell had to leave off, and Sonnenberg proves himself a one-man Goncourt Brothers. "Confessions" require transgressions, but being a "bad boy" suggests venial rather than venal sins. "I heard from a friend of my father's that no one is truly a man until his heart has been broken three times," a record easily surpassed in this chronicle of lovers, celebrities, and mismatches, projects, travels, and quiet triumphs, amid a torrent of literature. ("Publishers Weekly," above, neatly reprises the facts.) Then midway through the journey of this life comes a knock at the door for this "grey-haired youth": MS. Yet his condition eventually let Sonnenberg channel his energies into founding the quarterly "Grand Street" and, between 1981 and 1990, editing 35 classic issues. The roll-call of topics and authors still astonishes: "A Grand Street Reader" (1986) and "Performance and Reality: Essays from Grand Street" (1989) collect 64 exemplary stories, poems, and essays. Some reviewers of the original edition were upset by a confession which did not include absolution: there are explanations but, refreshingly, no excuses. Those who enjoy it will want to compare accounts with "Strangers in the House: Life Stories" by Dorothy Gallagher, his present wife. To dissuade her from marrying him, Sonnenberg says of MS, "It's pernicious, but not fatal"---an unfussy accuracy of word choice characteristic of a style like Sancerre, the clean, slatey white wine from the Loire. Counterpoint's handsome reissue re-sets the text attractively, and corrects a few errors; name-chasers will admire the useful index. (Check out Glenn Gould, pages 66-69.) "Lost Property" shows how one man trumped the curse of remembering.

This book made me miss my Metro stop and feed my children cold, canned food -- I couldn't get back to it fast enough and went through a minor depression after finishing it. Sonnenberg has a wonderful self-deprecating sense of humor and writes exquisitely. For some unknown reason, this book reminded me of "Of Human Bondage". If only he'd write another.... And without this book, the world would lose small gems such as "short, but very thick, and it smelled of honey."There are some things the world needs to know.