The Book: When Patrick Bringley's brother died of cancer in his twenties, Patrick quit his job at The New Yorker, where he worked in the public events office, and took a job as a guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He wanted to assuage his grief and "applied for the most straightforward job I could think of in the most beautiful place I knew". As he says "My heart is full, my heart is breaking, and I wanted to stand still awhile." This is a beautiful memoir of grief, joy, and love of art. It is also a love letter to the Met. In a world where bad things happen every day, it's nice to know that the Met exists. And it is nice to have books like this.
The Author: Patrick Bringley
Genre: Non-Fiction (Memoir)
Length: 321 pages using my iPad mini as e-reader. But note that the last 13 pages are a bibliography of books about art and the preceding 40 pages are "Art Works Referenced in the Text". At the beginning of that section is a link to the part of Bringley's web page containing the same list with links you can click that will take you to an image of the art.
One good thing: Bringley writes in a very accessible way about the art in the museum, so don't be afraid to pick this up even if you know that you have little background in art.
One not-so-great thing: In later chapters occasionally Bringley does not tie the art he is describing into events in his own life or the lives of the visitors to the Met and he tends to go into "art instructor" mode. I kept waiting for him to get back to his own life.
Personal Memory: Nancy Pearl's "Four Doorways" are meant for fiction and aren't applicable here. Instead, I want to bring a personal memory. One of my favorite paintings is Jan Van Eyck's "Marriage of Arnolfini". In March 1991 I visited London for the first time. My travel plans were made during the First Gulf War, although the conflict had ended by the time I arrived. Due to that war, there were almost no tourists in London (a rarity). One day I visited the National Gallery by myself. This was before the Sainsbury Wing had opened. It was morning and the museum was almost empty. I either didn't know that the Arnolfini portrait was held by the National Gallery or I had forgotten. I was wandering through various galleries, just me and the guards, when I happened upon that painting. I know my face lit up and I'm pretty sure I said aloud "Mr. Arnolfini!". Then I stood in front of it for a good ten minutes, knowing I would never get this chance to be alone with it again. Just me and the guard. After reading this memoir I regret that I didn't share this with the guard, but I'm sure he watched and knew. The next time I visited the National Gallery the Sainsbury Wing had opened and Mr. Arnolfini had been moved there. The room was packed with visitors and I missed having him all to myself.
