Growing up in Canada, Leanne Shapton was one of a handful of teenagers
hand-picked to become world-class swimmers. She made 5 a.m. practices,
traveled to distant meets and developed an obsession with time due to
stop watches that gave her "the ability to make still lifes out of
tenths of seconds." And then came the moment at age 14, when it occurs
to her "gently, in a quiet flash: I'm not going to go to the Olympics. I
will not be going. Not me." Rather that quit the team, she continues to
train, and the thoughtful, exquisitely written book that results is
ostensibly about her lifelong relationship to the sport, complete with
photos of her various bathing suits and meditations on the difference
between swimming (i.e., competitive swimming) and bathing (i.e.,
swimming for fun). The story underneath all this, however, concerns a
troubling question: What do we do with ourselves when we're good (or
even very good) at something we love, but not great? Shapton
finds her way, meeting her husband and using her "feel" for water as a
painter. She even includes some haunting, cobalt blue illustrations of
pools she frequents as an adult, as well as a color guide to different
swimming smells, such as "coach: fresh laundry, Windbreaker nylon,
Mennen Speed Stick, Magic Marker, and bologna." These extra visual
elements dazzle, but the specifics of this world and her insightful take
on her own far-from-ordinary life are what makes any reader wonder if
Shapton's gold medal might have already been won—in writing.
— Leigh Newman
