An exceedingly strange little book about a man who leaves his wife and child to live in the wildernes and encounters some kind of dark creature out on the English moors.
Everyone loves Jesmyn Ward’s new novel. Readers love it, critics love it, authors love it. Which makes me wonder what’s wrong with me. Continue reading “Book 43: Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward”
The things I once loved about Salman Rushdie are the same things I now cannot stand.
Rushdie was the first “serious” author I ever read – and by that I mean the first from the literary establishment, after spending my teenage years consumed mostly with genre fiction. Twenty-year-old me found Fury and Midnight’s Children and The Satanic Verses absolutely dazzling – rich, textured, unknowable beasts. Continue reading “Book 42: The Golden House by Salman Rushdie”
Claire Messud’s The Burning Girl and Robin Wasserman’s Girls on Fire have a lot more in common than just their fiery titles. Continue reading “Books 40 & 41: Burning girls on fire”