Now I knew what was meant by a great novel. And there was more where it came from, a slow orgy of Dostoevsky, slow because there is something in all that passion, all that intensity, that makes one literally afraid, each book an experience, a quest that takes time to prepare for, with an awareness that the book is waiting as inevitable as the last age that you will reach before death.
From “Memoirs of a Book-Molesting Childhood” (1987).
1 comment:
Yikes! This excerpt and litlove's recent post on Batelle have ushered in the autumnal reading season with a shiver. And here's hoping your teaching's going well. Best, BL
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