Sunday, July 27, 2008

Banville's Lemur

I finished such late last night, defiant in my distance from the locker room chortle echoing from the reunion (why, Joel, why) and being muffled via the ambered stillness of middle-class mediocrity: my terminal location, I'm afraid.

The Lemur struck me as a Dostoevskyan wager: much like The Gambler, it was as if Banville was challenged as to whether he could switch the locale of his crime stories to contemporary NYC and hash out a tale with a maximum of 24 hours of effort. The distance from murder to denouement is literally a few dozen pages.

I don't know what is next, though I have considered a third reading of Gravity's Rainbow.


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