The Traces, the first book from essayist and critic Mairead Small Staid, is astonishingly good. It's a swim in a deep body of water, serene yet almost electric with life. Working in the tradition of Michel de Montaigne, Staid calls this work an essay. This is an apt phrasing; the piece is one current of thought, spooling out from a two-pronged center: the author's memory of the months she spent in Italy as a college student, as well as a reading of Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities. Staid's vast critical range is on display here, turning what could be merely a memoir or travelogue into a wide-ranging treatise on beauty and distance, desire and memory, and the pursuit of and reflection on that nebulous thing called happiness.
Staid builds The Traces, in addition to Calvino's work, on a foundation drawn from sources as disparate as Anne Carson, Dante and even Montaigne himself, setting her narrative in a hall of mirrors, each one made of words. While in Italy, she explains, "I write down facts and dates and anecdotes; I write down joy and want. I wonder at my own wonder." The Traces is filled with that wonder, inviting readers to consider not just this one place and time but the impact place can have on a person. Gorgeous on every level, The Traces is perfect for readers who dream of wine-soaked sunsets on distant coasts and who value art, architecture and literature. It is for those who trust that awe and beauty are for everyone--and can be found anywhere. --Sara Beth West, freelance reviewer and librarian