May 18th, 2007
|07:20 am - Books|
I was in the new books section of the library when a volume leapt out, wrestled me to the ground, dragged me to the check-out counter by my ear, and insisted I take it home. It was Trial of Flowers by Jay Lake (appearing locally as jaylake) - so it wasn't much of a struggle on my part. I anticipate devoting a fair chunk of today to it, after I take care of some chores.
I finished the print version of Lolita by Vladamir Nabokov. Still creepy. Even creepier are the blurbs on this edition of the book proclaiming it 'the only true love story of the decade' and such-like. If that's what love is, I'm just as glad to have it pass me by. Or did they all just miss the parts about her crying herself to sleep every night when she thought HH was asleep?
ETA: I made a mistake, the quote is actually "The only convincing love story of our century." The only attribution is Vanity Fair; I presume a review in the magazine rather than someone whose parents have a bizarre sense of appropriate names.
|Date:||May 18th, 2007 03:25 pm (UTC)|| |
You know, I would have to guess that anybody who called it 'the only true love story of the decade' was being just a little ironic...
Or, you know, maybe not.
It is entirely possible that a bunch of white middle-aged intellectual types actually missed the part where the white middle-aged intellectual (*koff* unreliable *koff*) narrator is the villain of the piece.
|Date:||May 20th, 2007 12:25 am (UTC)|| |
I made a mistake - the quote is actually "The only convincing love story of our century" and it is attributed to Vanity Fair. Time magazine thought it was "Intensely lyrical and wildly funny." Wildly funny? I, um, whatever. Oh well, it wouldn't be the first time I was a humorless feminist.