The Guest is set in the contemporary kingdom of what I am assuming is the Hamptons—“the city” is never quite named, but there is a passing reference to geographic directions (Alex is quoted as “out east”) and I spotted at least one ubiquitous Citarella shopping bag. It projects an aura of sadness; When Rand al’Thor is wandering around without any money and sleeping in hedges, it’s an expected part of an epic bildungsroman. When Alex does it, here at the beach, she’s tragically lost.
Read MoreThat math is a fundamentally confusing false structure, superimposed on our world, makes it function similarly to a fantasy novel’s magic system. But, in reality, math needs to relate to something—to point to some underlying structure of the cosmos—to be consistent. It has to tie to some underlying process, unless it is solely solipsistic, and therefore functionally worthless in application. Consistency in the real world is power.
Read MoreOriginally Agamemnon was a story about Cassandra, but she was exiled from it by the history of literature. She was made a foreigner in her own story. On the border she stands waiting, century after century, while all of the other characters come home.
…
Everyone, including Agamemnon, was always telling Cassandra not to speak of this. Her mouth was full of madness and birds, the chorus was dismayed by all the blood and small bones.
The reader is to be forgiven for thinking that, while the narrator is to become Sappho, the author already embodies Cassandra. Each motion and movement on the page begets the next with such fluidity that I can’t help but want to read it again.
Read MoreIt is possible–really, truly, non-hyperbolically possible–that i will never read a book better than Mirth in my lifetime. Living under modern capitalism is a sickness that produces a “growth at all cost” mindset, and it can be slightly jarring to realize I might have already experienced the peak of reading fiction for pleasure for my entire life. But, again, I don’t think I’m going to win marathons and I still run them, so I think I’ve come to terms with the concept that things don’t have to be perfect to be worth doing; I am pretty sure I’m okay with reading books that place 6135th on the shelf. However, if I had read Mirth in college–if I was the same person then as I am now (I am not), if I knew how to read it in college (I did not)–I would have dedicated my studies to it. Honestly, I am slightly grateful for the travesty of literary education that didn’t lead me to it for forty years.
Read MoreRight, so, cue this this book called Strange Weather in Tokyo. There’s a woman who is just sort of faffing about, working a job and existing in the normal—but not literary—sense. If she was just a person you knew, she’d be fine: a job, a home, stuff to eat, hobbies, etc etc. But if you’re reading about her, well, it seems a little flat. Something’s gotta happen, right?
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