Even just thumbing through a few select pages makes the world slow its spinning for a bit, brings a bit of order to the psyche, soothes the soul.
1. A Little Princess (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
2. Twenty and Ten (Clare Huchet Bishop)
3. Pattern Recognition (William Gibson)
4. It's Not How Good You Are, It's How Good You Want To Be (Paul Arden)
5. Extravagant Worship (Darlene Zschech)
6. Elimination Dance (Michael Ondaatje)
7. The Book of Luke (THE book. Of Luke.)
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Sunday, May 11, 2008
A haute nerd intensity
From Pattern Recognition, pages 17 and 18:
My God, don't they know? This stuff is simulacra of simulacra. A diluted tincture of Ralph Lauren, who had himself diluted the glory days of Brooks Brothers, who themselves had stepped on the product of Jermyn Street and Savile Row, flavoring their ready-to-wear with liberal lashings of polo knit and regimental stripes. But Tommy surely is the null point, the black hole. There must be some Tommy Hilfiger event horizon, beyond which it is impossible to be more derivative, more removed from the source, more devoid of soul. Or so she hopes, and doesn't know, but suspects in her heart that this in fact is what accounts for his long ubiquity.
It needed to be said.
My God, don't they know? This stuff is simulacra of simulacra. A diluted tincture of Ralph Lauren, who had himself diluted the glory days of Brooks Brothers, who themselves had stepped on the product of Jermyn Street and Savile Row, flavoring their ready-to-wear with liberal lashings of polo knit and regimental stripes. But Tommy surely is the null point, the black hole. There must be some Tommy Hilfiger event horizon, beyond which it is impossible to be more derivative, more removed from the source, more devoid of soul. Or so she hopes, and doesn't know, but suspects in her heart that this in fact is what accounts for his long ubiquity.
It needed to be said.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Passages
From Anil's Ghost, by Michael Ondaatje.
'I've had friends die who were my age, but I miss that old man more. I suppose I was expecting him to teach me how to be old.'* (p. 47)
This was sunstroke or dengue fever or malaria. When they got back to Colombo she would have tests done. 'It's the sun,' Sarath murmured. 'I'll buy you a bigger hat. I'll buy you a bigger hat. I'll buy you a bigger hat.'* (p. 60)
He stood facing Anil, his arms straight down. He was thin, like some lost animal, some idea.
'I've had friends die who were my age, but I miss that old man more. I suppose I was expecting him to teach me how to be old.'* (p. 47)
This was sunstroke or dengue fever or malaria. When they got back to Colombo she would have tests done. 'It's the sun,' Sarath murmured. 'I'll buy you a bigger hat. I'll buy you a bigger hat. I'll buy you a bigger hat.'* (p. 60)
He stood facing Anil, his arms straight down. He was thin, like some lost animal, some idea.
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