Of course, I had to discover the best book of the year, 672 glorious pages long, the day before the beginning of the semester. Now I stare in mute resentment at anybody who wants me to do anything except read this book.
Details to follow but American literature is alive and thriving.
Please don’t leave us waiting π
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One third in, and incapable of tearing myself away.
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Title and author please, I’m currently reading airport fantasy and don’t want to be π
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Only because it’s you who asked, I’ll reveal ahead of time that it’s Fox by Joyce Carol Oates.
She’s 85 and she writes like this. It’s extraordinary. We should all be so fortunate.
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Actually, she’s 87. I can’t even.
God kissed this woman on the head.
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Thank you! I’ll go get it ASAP, realised I’ve never read anything by Oates until now
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“never read anything by Oates”
I’ve only read Son of the Morning — many years ago which did not make me want to read a bunch of other stuff by her….
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Maybe she’s like Barbara Kingsolver who wrote one brilliant book amidst mountains of talentless crap.
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I tried to read Oates for years but never connected with any of her work. This is why I picked up this new novel with zero hopes. But the first three random sentences I read made it clear that I was going to devour this novel with shuddering, almost terrible pleasure. When you know, you know.
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