Based on its placement on MFS's end of the year best books list and that Sandra almost missed her station while reading it, I've begun Elliot Perlman's Seven Types of Ambiguity. I'm only ten pages in, but I'm seriously creeped out. A former boyfriend of mine continued to carry a torch for me for years after I married and unnerved me a few years back by showing up at my parents' and then by tracking me to my workplace. I'm finding the narrative device-- the psychiatrist to the obsessive boyfriend's speaking (writing?) directly to the former girlfriend--particularly unsettling.
I may be reduced to rereading the Bobbsey Twins by the time this one's over.
A bang, not a whimper
Two months into L.'s retirement, and I'm finished with the stockpiling of books. No more book purchases! Or at least, no purcha...
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(See also Musee des Beaux Arts ) As far as mental anguish goes, the old painters were no fools. They understood how the mind, the freakiest ...
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When I finished Kevin Brockmeier's A Brief History of the Dead last spring I immediately did a search to see if the Coca-Cola Corp. had...
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