Byer wisely avoids cheap philosophical comparisons between the experience of playing pool and the game of life. Instead, she dares to be human by appearing vulnerable and ridiculous and only occasionally triumphant. This engagement in a practice purely for the love of it is a refreshing message in a culture saturated with the belief that transformation (with a gesture toward perfection) is the precursor to lasting happiness, especially for women. When Byer is poised at the edge of a pool table, ready to move a ball against a very real opponent, we feel that she has just begun to understand who she is. "I have a slash of blue chalk on my pants," she writes. "I reek of cigarette smoke and somebody else's cheap perfume. I am dancing. I am dark-haired and powerful. I am lovely.
Pockets of self-discovery
Sweet An Eight-Ball Odyssey Heather Byer Riverhead Books: 288 pp., $24.95
"I am hooked."
Her compelling narrative poses universal questions. Can the perks of community (encouragement, comfort, connection) co-exist with competition -- in the poolroom, in a city, in a relationship? (In one poignant exchange, Byer discovers that she won't get a second date with someone she beats at pool.) Many of Byer's friends think she's nuts and offer ridicule instead of support; they don't understand why an articulate, professional woman roams around beer-soaked pool halls with so much of her sense of self riding on winning a particular match. What Byer learns in the intimacy of a pool match is to make a big mess and try something new, even if you never excel. She acknowledges that this is not an easy task. As "an A-student trapped in a C-student's pool game ... can I still love the game and be just an ordinary pool player? Will that be enough?" The sweetest spot in this memoir is Byer's willingness to ask that question and live with the answer. *
