I meant to tell you this months ago:
Read, "The Maytrees" by Annie Dillard.
It hurt like hell, but I felt better for it. Like resetting a broken bone.
It's a good one.
I think it might be the saddest, most realistic, and most hopeful look at love I've read.
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Would the library be OK, instead of the bookstore? We are a little over booked.
Is that her novel? I admit I've struggled with her work. The words - ah, the words, awesomely knit together conveying a sense of wonder about creation in many ways. But I guess I must feed off the personal, and Annie, well, where is she? She's missing, and I need her; even in fiction I fear wouldn't have any connection if she were absent. Is she there? Do I make sense?
Bummer, the library doesn't have it.
cecily,
pop on over and i'll lend you my copy? i'll even make you tea.
deanna,
ya. i get what you mean - i feed off the personal too. i think she works so well for me because she speaks to MY personal - almost like she bypasses herself and goes straight for me... but, if you don't like her other stuff then i don't think you'll like this.
that's o.k. i still like you.
That's soo good, that you still like me, yes, but mainly that you are given such a gift by Annie. I think it's likely my problem that I don't connect with her personally, but I do appreciate how painstakingly she moves toward clarity. It's her whole job.
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