The Story

Honestly? There’s no story—at least not in the way you’re thinking. *Trivia* is a series of polished little essays, each a nugget of wit, irony, or wonder. One minute Smith is sitting in a café, quietly watching people argue about politics; the next, he’s mulling over why we say a baby’s innocence is ‘sweet’ but a wise person’s innocence is ‘foolish.’ Each page turns a sketch of ordinary moments—rain-streaked windows, awkward silences, nighttime thinkers—into microscopic celebrations of the mundane. The conflict? It’s maybe the hardest one: our own complicated feelings about self-purpose, love, boredom, and death. What a thrilling mystery—life itself.

Why You Should Read It

This is one of those slim books that keeps tumbling out of my bag at opportune moments. I’ll open it at random and land on something like: “We sink through the drift of gentle, kindly, unastonishing similes”—and I actually *feel the world slow down a step. Smith has this weird talent for making you laugh out loud about your own quiet moments of despair. He never talks down, and he never tries to bag things with fancy jargon. Instead, he’s honest: he writes about how isolating ambition is, and about the shimmer of shame woven through romance. His themes feel timeless, but the voice is stubbornly his own—conversational, bruised, clear-sighted. Reading his snippets made me want to keep a little notebook in my pocket for secret things I’d never say out loud.

Final Verdict

Perfect for anyone who daydreams during the wait for a bus; for the friends who doodle at dinner parties; for tired souls sick of long, serious books. If you love Rebecca Solnit’s quiet attention or the snappiness of Woody Allen’s two-liners, Smith fits you like an glove. Give it to that poetic aunt or the uncle who sounds bitter but is really full of marvel. It works for coffee and porches and sad afternoons alike. What it really gives is permission: to stop, look sideways, and trust you to find the wisdom crouching in plain day.