In Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro does such a brilliant job with first person narration – realistic, casual, conversationalist – that he completely lulls the reader into a false sense of something. Not security, necessarily, but something. And that false sense of something is more telling than the story itself. It’s Ishiguru’s genius. His
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In an effort to make light, this freaky little friend of mine has been telling me I remind him of Ruprecht when I eat. This makes me laugh. When I laugh, I drool a little. This makes me laugh more. I never imagined I’d be pleased to have half my face feel numb. But that’s
“Mr Obama swore his oath of allegiance on the same Bible used by Abraham Lincoln at his inauguration in 1861, held by the new First Lady Michelle Obama.” Apropos, I watched the inauguration in a pirate’s patch today. Now I’m getting ready to watch SAY ANYTHING…in the same patch.
Dear Flynn, I agree. It is a mite on the impolite side to turn down a generosity like sausage. Also, if you grew up in West Virginia in the 80s, you’re kinda like a war baby. Rations and all. Force of habit. I ate a crooked crumpet smothered in full fat maple syrup last night
It took three tries before I finally convinced myself to get out of bed this morning. Since I had no one to coerce me up and at ’em, I lay there until 10:00am. The Euro, in an effort to not catch everything I have, has been sleeping in the guest room this week. He says
We’re making plans to visit my grandparents. Sooner rather than later. Until last year I traveled to the States twice a year, each Spring and Summer, to spend a month with them at their home in Iaeger, West Virginia. Racked up air miles like nobody’s business and went to bed feeling not-so-bad that I missed
I’m getting so tired of sick. I know. I moan. But I’m not accustomed to not hearing and not tasting and not being able to push my body to run and jump and stay awake for more than six hours at a stretch. It’s only temporary and SO VERY SILLY of me to complain but
Moments of mysterious silence. ALL SILENT. And then it’s gone. Leaving everyone wondering and feeling a weird sense of loss. Like someone or something had jerked them away from a warm light they didn’t know they were moving toward. It seems appropriate and eerie that I should read Kevin Brockmeier’s “The Year of Silence” today.
I’m eating crumpets smothered in Lurpak and reading from one of my Christmas gifts: The Best American Short Stories (2008), edited by Salman Rushdie. In the past, short stories have not always been my favourite thing. I like to be in it for the long haul. But I’ve found they make exceedingly good bed fellows
Thanks to the Glandular Fever I’m convinced I’ve got…I’ve managed to spend a lot of time reading this week. Last night I finished up the following: “MOOSE”, by Stephanie Klein. I’m a four year fan of Klein and Greek Tragedy. I read her first memoir “Straight Up and Dirty” the day I brought it home.
Flynn: I read this morning that Bette Midler’s husband bought her the entire Penguin Classics series. That’s adorable. I have a real soft spot for her cause she’s just so brassy and sassy but self-aware and, you know, Beaches. Me: I’m with you on Bette. Also, she’s top heavy. And I like those sort of
