I’m not sure how to describe this without ruining it for you, so just believe me when i say its great and you should read it.
Ugh, I hate it when my library’s catalog has outdated authority records. The LOC clearly has “Questlove” as preferred. Plus that’s what his new book’s published under. More importantly, though: anyone read it yet?
If I was willing to see the simplicity, the purity, of my own desire, then I also had to see the entire landscape - the way desire rises from every corner and intersects, creates a wilderness over the earth.
— Rebecca Lee, Slatland
Could it be that Mr. Leonard has heard a few too many times that the thing he’s done professionally now for four decades, or thirty-seven times, is really easy because he makes it look easy? Just because it’s an amusement park and people are entertained by what you do, does that mean it’s not a serious skill? Could it be that he’d like to see a few of those kinds of commentators try jumping off the tower themselves? If you’ve been to the crossroads, and made the deal, and got the mojo—which turns out to be dependent on a great deal of hard work and practice, just like sleight-of-hand—wouldn’t you maybe get a trifle riled by that kind of misjudgment from time to time?
The plot’s dizzying profusion of murder suspects plays like something out of early Raymond Chandler, under whose bright star Bleeding Edge unmistakably unreels. Shoals of red herrings keep swimming by, many of them never seen again. Still, reading Pynchon for plot is like reading Austen for sex. Each page has a little more of it than the one before, but you never quite get to the clincher. Luckily, Pynchon and Austen have ample recourse to the oldest, hardest-to-invoke rule in the book —when in doubt, be a genius. It’s cheating, but it works.
I’m pretty disappointed that I didn’t notice these new Waffle Sliders on the menu until after I put in my order.
You work on something until it feels correct, and then it’s done. But nothing is ever perfect. It’s like a very bad mosquito bite. You put some calamine lotion on it, and it stops itching. But pretty soon it’ll start itching again. You’re motivated to keep scratching at it. Every single medium, you know when a thing is done. How do you know? They say it’s gotta be intuition. You use that faculty to tell when something is not right and when it is right. It’s the only thing you’ve got.
We got a new bookshelf and its been sitting in the librarians’ office for a few days now. Every morning someone prints up a new face for it.
The truth is, most of us like or dislike the characters we encounter in books, whether we ought to or not. It’s all part of fiction’s fantasy that we get to pal around with a charming drug dealer or a righteous butler or an angry socialite we’d otherwise never get to know. Every time we read a good novel, we are essentially befriending a new incorrigible person—which makes sense, really, because most of us love incorrigible people all throughout our lives.
— Katherine Hill, The Tournament of Literary Friends
In our previous game against the Falcons, one of our forwards, a former college player known to us as Fitzy, had scored six goals on Weiner, each time on a breakaway, employing the same maneuver: fake left, cut right, tuck the puck backhand between Weiner’s legs. A five-hole, as its called. At one point, Fitzy estimated that in his beer-league career he’d scored on Weiner with this deke two hundred and ninety-two times. (The Elias Sports Bureau has no record of this.) Near the end of the game, Fitzy skated in on Weiner on yet another breakaway. Weiner wasn’t going to fall for it this time, was he? Oh boy. Once again, Weiner was, as they say, completely undressed. If he had so much trouble with the backhand five-hole, he’d be no match for the teachers’ union or the party hacks in the Bronx.
Another librarian showed me the custom hold slip someone made to wrap her reserved copy of GOT season 2, and it’s pretty amazing.
But that was how it went sometimes, the English language, when you really needed it, crumbled to clay in your mouth. That’s when all the real things were said.
— Marisha Pessl, Night Film