Also: No, Dickens did not last. Yeah, I know. I'm such a spaz. Instead I'm now making a valiant pass at The Children's Hospital by Chris Adrian, which is good and all, but not as good as fourteen uninterrupted hours of sleep would be. Like on the one hand it's got that cool apocalypse and angels thing going on, and that's cool. But on the other hand it's got that McSweeney's McSweeney'sishness thing going on. And I like the McSweeney's vibe and all, I'm cool with it. But it's sort of weird in this case. Sort of.
Also I am reading stories from the debut issue of Avery. I really like some of the stories. And the ones I haven't liked as much have not morally or aesthetically offended me. So I'd call that a pretty healthy start for the upstart literary anthologists over there at Avery HQ. But why take my word for it when you can get all the words in the book for your own self?
3 comments:
How's the Dixon in there?
That cover is horrid.
The cover isn't so bad in person, actually. Because I remember being sort of "Eep" when I saw it online but then I got my copy and I was like, "Oh...ok."
The Dixon is good. I think it's a slightly humorous jab at those who might say all his stuff is autobiography.
I need another lit-journal subscription like I need another hole in my head, but damn, it's Dixon AND Ander Monson. It's going to be hard to resist.
Dunno how far you are into TCH, but however weird you think it is now, The Weird really picks up in the last couple hundred pages. I still liked it a lot, but there is plenty of The Weird.
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