Humbled

Early this morning, a placid soft-chilled prose poem of nascency, I stumbled upon yet another review Black Swan Green in the village voice. Unlike the groaning hordes which replicate the complaint that though this autobiography is great but the public needs another Cloud Atlas, the Voice's review was a careful consideration of themes and riffs which link all of Mitchell's novels. I hadn't considered such, outside of the obvious link to Cloud Atlas in the novel's midriff. While my brain continues to lumber towards lucidity, it proved pleasant to ponder the traces and clues which intertwine.