There was a time when a person wishing to inform himself in the higher branches of literature or philosophy, would have been obliged to undergo the labour of perusing dry crabbed treatises, written professedly on serious and important subjects. Now, happy revolution! he may luxuriantly imbibe, in the tempting form of a novel, the beauties of history embellished with all the eloquence of fiction, encumbered by no dates, and perplexed with no documents.
What a glorious age we live in indeed. Except that this was written more than 200 years ago.
When Mr. Amis and his second wife, the American writer Isabel Fonseca, 50, bought the 5,300-square-foot brownstone on Strong Place in Cobble Hill last year for $2.5 million, it was the most stunning infusion of macho literary firepower to the borough since Norman Mailer.
There are not enough synonyms for green to describe my envy.
What it seems to me more likely to mean is that the lack of library access to the most commercial titles forces those readers who care more about what they read than what they pay to purchase titles which the library doesn’t have (and which they probably “discovered” somewhere else.)
The whole discussion of libraries, ebooks, and sales is full of more logical fallacies than a comment thread on CNN. This take, though, seems refreshingly clear-eyed, even if it does not support the much wished-for idea that library borrowing spurs sales of books.
Even though I write violent books, I don’t want to make people desensitized to violence, ever. That means that when someone dies, I want to feel it, and I want you to, too.
Enough that you notice, but not so much that you get used to it. Like my philosophy on expressing human emotions.