Poor Naipaul

I reread the Believer interview today and it isn't cast as the best nonfiction book of recent memory or any given year but on India - - - and in English, I assume. The interview is actually riveting if only the lens of Maximum City wasn't Vollmannectic, culling lessons on chaos from sex workers and mafioso.

It appears that many are now privy to Sante's essay on his home library, echoing Benjamin, and actually citing him, as a matter of fact. I have moved all of ours. They are there, now. It is likely to rain.