What stranger could suppose that a literature one thousand years old,—a literature full of curious and delicate beauty,—exists upon the subject of these short-lived insect-pets?

November 1, 2013 § Leave a comment

what-stranger-011113

Have I mentioned how I kill book clubs like I kill plants? My second attempt was going swimmingly (our first pick from another member of the group: The Waves by V. Woolf—oh man, it was the best) and then I picked I Love Dick and we haven’t met again since our last meeting in February. No one finished it but me, which is a damn shame because it’s the best book I’ve read this year. I loved it. Can I recommend it to you, internet? Would you read it? It’s about love and obsession and books and women and art and academia and relationships and theory all rolled up into one epistolary affair. It’s the best.  read more

PHOTOGRAPH: [unattributed]

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You are currently reading What stranger could suppose that a literature one thousand years old,—a literature full of curious and delicate beauty,—exists upon the subject of these short-lived insect-pets? at my nerves are bad to-night.

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