I came across Robert Walser’s novella “The Walk” a few months ago via the staff picks section at the Soho McNally Jackson bookstore. Recommended by Riley. 

Initially, I found the language and word choice to be excessive and hard to read. The only way I was able to solve this issue was by reading it aloud to myself in bed. I read it like a bedtime story, tucking myself in, picking it up off my bedside table, and starting to speak the words aloud. 

On the final day of reading, I picked it up to start my day, finished it, then went for a walk. Noticing each detail and making mental notes - describing it to myself as he would to me. Each moment felt bigger than usual. Not heavy, just big. In fact, this might be what affected me most about his work. Walser captures the magnitude of each moment with a sense of light and airyness. Each moment is profound, but not debilitating. Memories are strung together in a very Proustian form, but with the playfulness of a poet like Wordsworth or Whitman. 

It is funny, witty, and had me sending excerpts to friends “YoU hAvE tO rEaD tHiS.” His pessimism and critical outlook of the world is quite charming. He oscillates between these two extremes: gleeful, childlike wonder, and rigid comically negative critiques of everyone around him. When he is alone, walking or admiring the trees, his writing is light and airy. It inspires you to get outside, take a deep breath and breathe in the world around you. When interacting with people, like his run-in with the bookstore clerk, his disdain is hilarious and extreme. One meets a man so fed up with life around him, it makes sense why he spent the final years of his life in an insane asylum, I can’t help but think he may have elected to be here - considering his disdain for the common folk: like book store clerk and tailor. 

Walser spent his last two decades confined to an asylum, and met his end while walking on Christmas Day. A haunting photograph, captured by the local constable, immortalizes the scene: his body lying in the snow, with footprints fading some distance behind, as if he had somehow drifted partway into eternity. He’s also commonly remembered as both a crank and a virgin. I find this endearing. 

Speaking of bookstore clerk, I had another interesting encounter with Walser. Every Sunday I walk over to my favorite bookstore, Aeon, and peruse the selections. Sometimes I buy a book, sometimes I do not, but I usually walk away with either a new favorite song, or new favorite book - as it seems all clerks there have awe-inspiring music taste and a general coolness I gravitate towards. 

Anyways, on this particular Sunday, I came across a copy of “Robert Walser: Tales and [insert name].” Thrilled, I grabbed it and carried it around the store with me before purchasing.

I began talking to the bookstore clerk, as the narrator did in the Walk, asking about [insert]. We exchanged friendlies then she asked me, 

Have you read the Walk?

Oh yes, of course. I loved it. 

I have a funny story about that book actually. 

Tell me, I said enthusiastically. 

Great. So, a few years ago, I read it and lent a copy to my then-boyfriend. Sometime after borrowing, his apartment caught on fire. The fire was so bad it destroyed basically everything he owned. He wasn’t there thankfully, but he did lose almost all his possessions, including his whole library and book collection – except for one book he had with him while he was out, that copy of The Walk I had lent him. We later broke up, but I insisted he keep it, since it was the only book he owned. It felt karmic.


I checked out and thanked her for both the book and the story. Little does she know, my copy is also with an ex lover, turned friend. I should remind him to turn off his oven or something.