I, like you, definitely don’t need to be made more susceptible to the predations of the truly sinister agents of corruption that are at work all around us.
I let go of any book that lacked sincerity in 2019; I plan to maintain that rule. Still, I’ve never in my life felt more grateful to return to words at the beginning or end of my days.
He described musicians as primordial forces borne from holler shacks, bereft steel towns, and Pentecostal villages, fated to carry earth-shaking messages and ultimately self-destruct.
I first read it on an airplane, and by the time I was halfway through, I gave zero fucks about how much it made me cry and laugh and feel, much to the horror of the other people seated in my row.
We’re all floating along a never-ending stream of content, a reality that might have been fun to imagine 20 years ago but feels bleaker each passing day of this political era.
Don’t play with dark spirts. Once you let them in, you might not be able to let them out. Starting a new book feels like sitting down to a tarot reading.
Despentes and Wynne are like the perfect dance partners, whirling around and around modern-day Paris with its hypocritical left and its virulent right.
Apologies to strangers who endured me recounting this self-mythologization at parties with overenthusiastic use of the phrase “relaxed mental sphincters.”
Reading is an essential part of being a writer; I’m delighted to have had a chance to read so many books that have thrilled me and inspired me this year.