David Zweig’s Swimming Inside the Sun challenges the reader to get a close look without directly staring.
The contemporary musician might read Zweig’s words and, before the layers of commentary fall into relief, find they hit too close to home. And the reader for whom the experience might be alien may be shocked to find themselves already inside. But that’s a testament to the candor of Zweig’s debut novel.
Do we sometimes detest the protagonist, Dan, for his overshare, his second-guess, his asterisk, his exposition of process? Probably. But the more we follow him, watching to see how that abyss will stare back, the more we’re taken over by the sweetness in his surrender to that world. And the closer we come to understanding that fragile joy that accompanies the creation of art, and music in particular.
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