This month these are the books I read with the eyes in my head-brain:
Bloods: An Oral History of the Vietnam War by Black Veterans edited by Wallace Terry, who taught me not to mix up LARPing with Lurping.
Selected Poems of Geoffrey Hill by Geoffrey Hill, who really just wants to be Eliot.
Emma by Jane Austen, who made me pretty sure that everyone fancies me or is pretending to so as to disguise their secret engagements.
The Sorrow of a Young Werther by Goethe, who should have taken his hero’s way out before writing this nonsense.
A Fire on the Moon by Norman Mailer, who, like a binge eating autophage, is a bit full of himself.
Sin City by Frank Miller, whose work I really wish I didn’t like but do.
Henry VI Part 3 by William Shakespeare, who is really milking this monarch by this point.
Hiroshima by John Hersey, who – Actually, no. No glib review for this. Go read it, do. But also prepare to feel double plus not-good from about page 6 onwards.
Richard III by William Shakespeare, who – no I’m still sad from that bit with the baby in Hiroshima just… you can go now.
At least my currently-reading pile is full of fun like The Sorrow of War and Regarding the Pain of Others…