I’ve read enough of Oates’ short stories to convince me that I’m not a fan, and On Boxing didn’t change that. She loves long sentences and profound-ish phrases more than character, plot, or thesis. (Reminds me of Chesterton’s maxim that small ideas hide behind long words.)
However, I’ll say this in support of this collection of verbose meditations on hitting people as sport:
1. it doesn’t over-use the phrases “manly science” or “sweet science”
2. it doesn’t try to prove that women should box
3. it doesn’t try to analyze the fighters without talking to them.
If you’re not sure whether boxing has any redemptive value, and you’re the type of person who can be swayed by personal reflection, then give this a try.
