I simply loved Hons and Rebels, and for a whole weekend I annoyed everyone around me by sharing passages made totally unintelligible by my fits of laughter. But more than with Nancy, my heart is with Jessica. Wodehouse, Max Beerbohm, and, to a lesser degree, other British parodists from that general era, I am surprised to have come to the Mitford sisters only this year. (Bonus: the Dalkey Archive edition features an intense introduction by William Gass.)īeing obsessed with P. A few chapters into the book, I found myself creating a document that collected Gaddis’s descriptions of skies. Also, I love loners, and Wyatt Gwyon is Arctically alone. I have always been interested in aesthetics, and Gaddis gives wonderfully diagonal and opaque answers to the eternal questions about representation, originality, and how personal expression struggles to make its way through historically sedimented forms and materials. This was the year when I finally read William Gaddis’s The Recognitions. This is an untamed, unlit, unforgiving book-which makes its relentless beauty all the more impressive. Eventually, after blackening almost every sentence with underlines and every margin with exclamation marks, I had to give up highlighting the passages I found remarkable. Few of the books I read this year have touched me as deeply as Alyson Hagy’s Scribe.
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