i get subjected to the diane rehm show on NPR twice a week (three times during the school year) and half the time i end up having to listen to book talk and it makes me want to pull my esophagus out of my throat because it’s all middle aged women who read like 12 books a year saying shit like this
dale peck stares at himself in a mirror in new york. the mirror envelops him in a gauze of shimmer. dale peck radiates sunshine. a peach-tinted orb appears in iowa city. the orb swaggers six feet above the ground. a crowd surrounds the orb. the crowd’s eyes are full of peach-tinted sweat. the orb begins to spin, twaddles, floats into the sky. a child cries, my balloon! her father slaps her. no one says anything. the blue sky tints peach for a moment, swirls of blue become the sky. a low moan descends upon the cornfields, crackling, rippling out in waves over the wheat, enters the ground. the crowd disperses. the earth gyrates.
“It’s funny: often it seems like the most asinine or quibbly threads
are the ones that get the most attention; certainly the most comment
heavy pieces are the ones that are often the most arbitrary or reductive.”
Yeah, Peck seems like another John Gardner type–the kind who would argue that literature saves yet claim Stanley Elkin is a fraud because he doesn’t write the kind of “morally uplifting” fiction that meets Gardner’s Puritan tastes.
I don’t see anything wrong with the basic premise of art “saving” people.
the copy of adam levin’s “the instructions” stashed in my jacket pocket worked as a buffer and retarded the the bullet’s velocity, thus making a superficial wound out of what could have easily been a fatal one. point: literature