and it’s cold again. trust a brit to keep making a fuss about the weather. in the reading room i pick up from where i’d left off the night before, and after feeling buoyed by what i’d been reading in ‘big red son,’ the next six containers have very little to offer me – but that’s not to say that they are not interesting. my left eye was partially blood-shot this morning when i woke up.
the scope of wallace’s intellect comes into sharp focus today, not that i wasn’t aware of how remarkable a talent he was, as i jump from containers covering his fiction to containers where he is reviewing books about math (or maths – depending on your preference), to a container where he is offering a feminist critique of a work of fiction, to in-depth reporting about what…
View original post 2,486 more words