“Such are the perfections of fiction...Everything it teaches is useless insofar as structuring your life: you can’t prop up anything with fiction. It, in fact, teaches you just that. That in order to attempt to employ its specific wisdom is a sign of madness...There is more profit in an hour’s talk with Billy Graham than in a reading of Joyce. Graham might conceivably make you sick, so that you might move, go somewhere to get well. But Joyce just sends you out into the street, where the world goes on, solid as a bus. If you met Joyce and said 'Help me,' he’d hand you a copy of Finnegans Wake. You could both cry.” – Gilbert Sorrentino, Imaginative Qualities of Actual Things


Thursday, July 7, 2011

Lost: The Lost Scrapbook

Posted by Emmett Stinson at 12:51 AM
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2 comments:

Sam Cooney said...

it's like life is imitating art or something. is that the point? Touché! did i use that saying right then? i'm lost. is this where i buy the new James Patterson novel?

July 7, 2011 at 3:47 AM
Emmett Stinson said...

Yes...all of that and more...I got the library to order a copy of this last year (I have a 1st Edition hardback at home, but it's a great book and any good library should have it!), and it literally never made it to the shelves (I know because I happen to spend an unhealthy amount of time browsing around the 813.54s)...

July 7, 2011 at 8:52 AM

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