When I was 25, during one scorching summer when I was house-sitting for a buddy, I read Emily Bronte's "Wuthering Heights." Dostoevsky is considered the first "modern" writer, but I vote to Emily -- one of the most subversive novels ever made, with a sexually obsessed main character whose object of desire is a dead woman, an utterly unreliable narrator, a structure built on a psychological interior that shifts like a house with moving walls. I had fever dreams that whole month.
Which may be true but not even Erickson can make me want to re-read Wuthering Heights, though.
2 comments:
But he makes it sound just like House of Leaves!
On the one hand, yes. On the other hand, not so much.
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