As a child, this what I thought adulthood was going to be: shelves of books in my apartment, stacks of New Yorkers, dense layered works of art, NYTimes crossword puzzles in the bathroom. I would pour all the work on to my bed and drown myself in language...dense, thick, obtuse waves of words, Baldwin-esque sentences strung together for half a page with semicolons and jazz riffs.
Well some days, adulthood works out like the fantasy. I got to see two incredibly rich pieces of staged literature with THE SOUND INSIDE and THE UNDERLYING CHRIS. Much like THE FLICK, I don’t consider them plays. They are novellas of ideas staged and acted out by alchemists who are able to make ‘the inside churn’ an external expression of sound and light. And then I came back to my apt and found an Amazon Sunday delivery (Sunday delivery?!?) of two brilliant voices. INTERPRETER OF MALADIES is the best collection of short fiction since Flannery O’Connor. Even though I’ve read it twice from friendly lenders, I wanted my own copy to review these stories again and again. Edwidge Danticat is in a class by herself and I don’t know why it took me so long to get this book.
Autumn is officially here. It’s jacket weather. I have my stack of books and my days of theatre are lining up. Leave me alone and let my introverted child drown in the word. He’s been waiting for #hotwhateversummer to be done with so he can wear a fall sweater and walk around the city with a book under his arm, as he is on his way to sit in a dark room and drown.
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