the falls. the falls. the falls.

Something that’s neither here nor there but comes to mind because it comes to mind. Whenever I think of Joyce Carol Oates I always have this image of her running through Hyde Park. Long and lean and listening. Alone, with her internal self. What conversations they must have.

I’ve just finished reading The Falls. And I don’t know what to think of it. I never know what to think of Oates. Her talent is undeniable. The depth of her characters, incredible. She’s real and raw and honest. She doesn’t mollycoddle her readers. Doesn’t seem a fan of happy endings. I think that’s the thing I enjoy most.

Now, to Zombie.

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