Stillness. Complete, impractical stillness. I don’t really want to move much less type this but I have to put some thoughts down.
Heaviness. My heart feels like there’s a brick compressing it.
Did I ~like~ Oscar Wao? In many ways, no. It’s a book of horrifying tragedy and injustice. I didn’t LIKE reading about that at all. But there was in it an unquenchable spirit–in the characters, in the writing itself. I tweeted that it was an “unexpected book”–meaning, I couldn’t have imagined a book quite like it till I read it. I’m having that feeling I have when I read certain books, where my primary thought is, Jackie, can you imagine your life had you NOT read that book? How sad that would be for you.
Thanks to my friend Drew for keeping this book on my radar.
