Some reviews, some books, some writers, I just feel inadequate to the task. Sarah Kay has inspired me here, and I feel kind of speechless as a result. As someone for whom poetry can sometimes feel like an almost spiritual experience, I don’t feel worthy or capable of doing the book justice. Yet I feel compelled to say something. Continue reading →
Sometimes, when you really love a book, you think “man, I really like this book, I wish I had a million more like it.” I’ve had this feeling here recently with Elena Ferrante’s The Days of Abandonment. So good! But unfortunately, it seems to be uniquely good. It sort of defies comparison. One contributor has described it as Claire Messud’s The Woman Upstairs meets Herman Koch’s The Dinner. So far, I have found that to be very accurate. But unfortunately I have already read both of those books. So now what? Continue reading →
In a book I have been reading recently, White Noise by Don DeLillo, a character named Murray posits:
I don’t trust anybody’s nostalgia but my own. Nostalgia is a product of dissatisfaction and rage. It’s a settling of grievances between the present and the past. The more powerful the nostalgia, the closer you come to violence.