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by John Fowles
I longed for a contemporary novel about contemporary life. I longed for references to malls, and to boners, and to "intense cell phones" and to a pillow made of denim with an actual jeans pocket on the front, "like it thinks it's Bruce Springsteen."
He takes to task the Victorian obsession with categorizing, with trying to tame the wild, and makes a case for experiencing nature, for "green chaos."
There was a divide between the books that I wanted to read, and the books that I wanted to want to read. And the latter category won over the former time and time again.
Childhood and adolescence are the great gateway experiences to adulthood, middle-age, the so-called golden years, and then decrepitude. All that, waiting to be unpacked. By that time it’s too big for a backpack. We’re talking about a whole civilization you’ve buried in your backyard.