The Sorrow Proper

by Lindsey Drager

The Sorrow Proper is a novel-length investigation of the anxiety that accompanies change. A group of aging librarians must decide whether to fight or flee from the end of print and the rise of electronic publications, while the parents of the young girl who died in front of the library struggle with their role in her loss. Anchored by the transposed stories of a photographer and his deaf mathematician lover each mourning the other's death, The Sorrow Proper attempts to illustrate how humans of all relations—lovers, parents, colleagues—cope with and challenge social "progress," a mechanism that requires we ignore, and ultimately forget, the residual in order to make room for the new, to tell a story that resists "The End." This debut novel explores the hypothetical end of the public library system and a young theory in the hard sciences called Many Worlds, a branch of quantum mechanics that strives to prove mathematically that our lives do not follow a singular, linear path. Lindsey Drager 's prose has appeared most recently in Web Conjunctions , Gulf Coast , West Branch Wired , Black Warrior Review , Cream City Review , Quarterly West , Kenyon Review Online , and elsewhere. A Michigan native, she is a PhD candidate at the University of Denver where she edits the Denver Quarterly .

Genres: Fiction, Novels, Science Fiction, Books About Books, Contemporary, Literary Fiction, Speculative Fiction

184 pages, Paperback

First published March 23, 2015

About the author

Her experimental novels have won a John Gardner Fiction Prize and a Shirley Jackson Award; been listed as a “Best Book of the Year” in The Guardian and NPR; and twice been named a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award.
Her work has received support from the Anderson Center for Interdisciplinary Study, the I-Park Foundation, the Kimmel Harding Nelson Center for the Arts, and the Vermont Studio Center. The recipient of a 2020 National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship in Prose, she is currently at work on two speculative multimedia projects.

Reviews

[Janet · Rating 5 out of 5]

I adored this tiny book about the closing of a library and a certain fading into death of--a man?--a woman? -- their love story, meeting at the library-- and the librarians... I met Drager at AWP, on a panel on Novellas... what a brilliant woman. Knew I had to go out and get her book. This minimalist work proved to be a tender, formally experimental and deeply beautiful book, told in one or two page chapters. Moving, intimate, thought provoking.

[Nate D · Rating 3 out of 5]

Finely crafted and conceptually elegant, but the fading library here never moves from concept to brick and mortar, the central interpersonal losses exist on paper more than in blood. What works here is full of promise, but by two novels later, with the fragmentary fairy tale structures of The Archive of Alternate Endings Drager was pulling off real literary alchemy, somehow much more conceptually bizarre yet wholly invested and heartfelt.

[Eric · Rating 4 out of 5]

That which will be shrunk
must first be stretched.
That which will be weakened
Must first be strengthened.
That which will be torn down
Must first be raised up.
That which will be taken
Must first be given.

Chapter #36 of the Tao

The above selection from the Tao simply states that for something to be anything, it must first be something else.

For someone to become a teacher, they must first be a student. For an organization to close, it must first be opened. In order to feel loss, there must first be a sense of connection, or ownership. For something to cease to exist, it must first have existed. It's a rule that teaches change is a constant, despite our desire for consistency. Non-existence gives birth to life, life gives way to death, death gives way to memory, and memory fades back into non-existence. It is cyclical in nature, and even though the pattern repeats, the actual product of that non-existence is genuinely unique. In The Sorrow Proper, Lindsey Drager asks us to examine that pattern, and how non-existence can be a form of existence; a form of possibility.

This is Drager's debut novel, and I have to say that I'm very impressed. Not only is it wonderfully cerebral, it is also beautifully written. In many ways it reminds me of Yann Martel, with his mixture of seductive prose and contemplative ambiguity providing the reader with a general sketch on the intended narrative, which allows the mind to wander in interpretation. Frankly, to say that it compares to a Martel novel is one of the highest praises I can give a book, since I'm so enamored with them. The Sorrow Proper is a bit more technically minded than Martel's books, mixing prose with metaphysical theory. It all works very well in favor of the story that she is telling, and particularly for the open-ended questions she's asking.

Is the library the building or the books? she thinks. It is an edifice as certain but abstract as math.

The narrative begins with the threat of the public library being closed. While lamenting this decision, a small group of librarians prepare the library and its books for the change its about to undergo while discussing deeper questions such as the one above. The library is also the site of a photography exhibit being presented by another of the book's characters who is simply known as 'the photographer'. While cleaning up the exhibit he meets a deaf mathematician and the two strike up a budding romance. This sparse cast is rounded out by the Bronsons, a married couple who lost their daughter when she was struck by a car while leaving the library. Each of these relationships and their varied viewpoints are used to explore the book's examination of presence, existence, loss, non-existence, and possibility; change.

This all sounds rather clinical, though the book is anything but. The relationship between the mathematician and photographer is very well done, and serves as the emotional hook to the story. The mathematician's affection for the photographer seems to embody the relationship between math and its search for higher truth, of imperfect understanding, while his affection for her is displayed in an entirely different manner, also imperfectly, one captured in images and moments, but never the whole. It is the raw beauty of physical existence attempting to communicate with the silent language of logical possibility in order to find an understanding, to become something greater than either are independently.

I think the photographer is in love with the deaf woman, Genevieve says finally.

Mercedes fingers the lip of her mug. How can you tell?

He touches her the way we touch the books

I suspect, though I can't be sure, that the librarians are cunningly named after several philosophers whom the author may appreciate, and who may have influenced the character's personalities; all save for Avis, which has several possible interpretations. Avis is the French word for 'view', or 'opinion', but is also Latin for 'bird'. Both of these translations seem applicable to the story, as the reader will soon find out, and it's this type of layering that rewards additional thought and reading, and which I admire.

I've heard some criticism that the librarians are very stock characters, and that they are rather one-dimensional. Interestingly, that's rather appropriate, considering the metaphysical considerations Drager is addressing. Ignoring the fact that the librarians themselves are stuck in viewing the library as the same entity they've always known, grieving over its 'loss', they serve primarily as mouthpieces to expound on the philosophical viewpoints and discussion questions that the author is asking, so there really isn't a need to develop them further.

If I had a critique to offer, it would be that I don't particularly care for present tense narration, though I understand why it was used here. That's a personal taste, and other than that I didn't think there was any fat to trim, nor unnecessary exposition. It may be a bit too conceptual at some points, finding its way into simultaneous alternative narratives, which may cause trouble for some readers, though it's all part of the discussion. It may also leave some readers with far too many questions, and few answers, though I found the ending to be a satisfying closure.

What I’m concerned with most, Harriet tells them, leaning in close, is that the access to everything will lead to the possession of nothing at all. They seem to forget that the job of a librarian is not just acquisition – it is stripping the library clean of the bad books, too.

That’s an archaic logic now, Genevieve says, staring blankly at the graffiti on the tabletop. That’s the antithesis of the whole new wave; not that everything is art, but that we each have the power to decide what isn’t. That’s what uncensored access is. The antidote to privilege.

The Sorrow Proper is a contemplative and elegant, metaphysical ballet of theory and language. It's not quite experimental, but certainly not a one-dimensional linear narrative. It is equal parts thoughtful and exquisitely written. Considering its size, a slim 150 pages, it sure covers a lot of ground, and leaves the reader with much to consider. It's certainly not a book for everyone, and I'd only recommend it to those who enjoy the challenge of conceptual fiction in which the language is as much a character as it is the presentation of information.

Really, a great debut novel and a book that I will most certainly enjoy reading again.

And as he sits there in her chair, looking at the line depicting her felled spoons, he can’t help feeling close to her in a way he can’t get when she is in the room. Maybe it is knowing that a particular kind of care is involved in the act of photographing another’s personal effects, and that he has now inextricably linked his affection for her with his work. Maybe it is the fact that he knows her spoons will outlive her, operate as cast, as proof that she once was.

Or maybe, he thinks, spotting a spoon that skirted its way under his cropping board, it is knowing that theory is easier to love.

[Thaydra · Rating 2 out of 5]

This book had potential. The style of writing was almost poetic, and had a beautiful way of flowing at times. However, I'm curious as to whether the author has actually ever set foot in a library, or spoken to an actual librarian, and knows what a library actually does and what being a librarian actually entails. The stereotype of the "librarian" and the "library" in this story was disturbing, and not in the way I typically like my stories to be disturbing, but rather in a highly misrepresentational way.

Nor did I connect with any of the characters. I kept hoping that eventually something was going to happen that made everything click together- that would bring some color to them instead of the black and white and grey that I felt them in- but it never did.

[anklecemetery · Rating 4 out of 5]

Haunting, spare, and lovely. My library shelves it as science fiction, but I think it's more metaphysical fiction: as a group of librarians ponder the closing of the library, a deaf mathematician and a photographer meet, fall in love, and--in parallel universes--mourn each other's untimely death.

[fatma · Rating 2 out of 5]

More convoluted than complex...

[Jim · Rating 5 out of 5]

Finishing at the beginning. This is Lindsey Drager's first book but I read it last, having read her published books in reverse order of their release. Unsurprisingly, this book was absolutely amazing. Similar to her other two books, "The Lost Daughter Collective" and "The Archive of Alternate Endings", in that it is so stunningly realized and beautifully written. I am in total awe of Lindsey Drager. Her ability to build a story from simple words, small phrases, unique imaginings. Seriously, this book is unbelievably powerful. Three parallel threads - 4 librarians, a grieving mother and father, and a Deaf Mathematician and a Photographer - all swirl and interconnect and overlap and diverge and return. Gloriously told and emotionally devastating. I am at a loss to understand where Drager gets her talents, some sort of deal with the Demons of Linguistics or the Angels of Literary Ideas or just an unerring, inherent ability to bring what seems obvious into greater focus, or enshroud that which is already shadowy and indistinct. There is nothing but sheer fabulousness in these pages. The conversations the Librarians have are so thought-provoking and pertinent, philosophical even. The moments of time with the Photographer and the Deaf Mathematician are so full of emotional depth and gravity. The few scenes with the Mother and Father are equal parts awful and lovingly drawn. Each sentence in this book is so expertly crafted and well-placed. I haven't read a book this stupendous since, well, Drager's second book, "The Lost Daughter Collective". Sounds repetitive, I am sure, but I cannot be any more effusive in my praise and awe of everything Drager has written. I could hardly believe "The Archive of Alternate Endings" was just her third book. I had to read her second, and then her first, to find out when she developed into such a creative talent. It seems it was always there, since "The Sorrow Proper" is just as stellar. It has its own weight and life and power, much like her other books but just enough different. Where she gets her ideas and narratives is beyond me to understand. I only hope she keeps writing.
Add this book, with her other two, to my Best Books Ever list. I cannot wait to read what she publishes next. This book should be kept and savored. Shared, if possible, with anyone who loves literature at its finest.
Essential.

[Lio · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is a master class in poetry and prose. Every sentence is dense the way an abandoned flower bed is: bursting with life, planted with intention, branching forth of their own volition, sweet and thorned and impossibly alive.

So many books nowadays are long for the sake of it. “The Sorrow Proper” is not one of those books. You can read it in a matter of hours, but I promise you won’t want to. Sentences are to be savored, possibilities mapped and human growth and digression tracked with the silent pad of your index finger.

The basic plot: a mute mathematician and a fastidious photographer meet each other during the photographer’s exhibit at an outdated library on the verge of closing. This is where we start, and, in a way, it is how the story ends, but no spoilers here. :) The cast also includes aging librarians with a penchant for alcohol; a dying library; two grieving parents; and, in a fashion, the concept of statistical probability itself. This is not the sort of book I’d usually pick up on my own, but it quickly became the sort I was loathe to put down.

Tl;dr: give it a read. It only costs a handful of hours.

[Alistair · Rating 3 out of 5]

This I know.
Dramatis personae:
Avis, Harriet, Genevieve, Mercedes: librarians
A deaf mathematician
A photographer
Mrs. Bronson
Mr. Bronson

Of this I am sure.
Of nothing else can I be sure.
The deaf mathematician and the photographer engage in metaphysical discussions - but do they inhabit the same realm?
For art to succeed one needs to suspend disbelief.
The photographer dies (or not).
The deaf mathematician is dead (or not).

Mr and Mrs Bronson annually acknowledge a tragedy outside the library.

The librarians are facing momentous change: the library, as they know it, is closing; the books are being removed to make more space for technologies; the children's section is being re-badged as The Pre-Adult Centre. Nightly they congregate at the local bar and ruminate what makes a library. "Strange word, 'library'. What does it mean?"
I think it's fair to admit that for most of the 148 short pages of this novel I was alternately baffled or bemused.

[Erika Schoeps · Rating 3 out of 5]

I know that I wrote 3 stars, but I'm deeply conflicted about this one. There's more to this than the star rating.

I saw this author read over a year ago, and have been meaning to pick this one up for a while. It began in a promising fashion, with the main characters being a deaf mathematician, a photographer, and a group of librarians watching their library close down. The setting and characters were clearly laid out for me. I'm all about this premise -- I was ready.

The chapters are very short, and only chronicle a single brief incident in these character's lives. Things are moving chronologically, and then... things start to get crazy.

I started to become confused about what was literally happening, so I turned to the blurb at the back for assistance. Apparently this book uses a "garden of forking paths" technique, presenting us with alternative realities and flashing around in non-chronological order. We quickly learn that our two main characters are destined for a terrible end right from the beginning. But will these alternate realities show us a place where they are saved? Do they even want to live? Will they stay together?

This book is ultimately working towards displaying loss. The librarians are going to lose their library (and their jobs). The deaf mathematician and the photographer (who are dating ((and never named)) might lose their own lives. A couple who is introduced later lost their daughter in a traffic accident. Are these pictures of loss supposed to challenge how we look at loss? Are they meant to be compared? Are they poignant in how they absolutely cannot be compared?

If this is the goal, then this book was a failure. The librarians are the absolute worst characters, and they never move beyond being caricatures of librarians. I thought that this would end up being subverted later, but it never let up. For some reason, the librarians have names even though they are deeply cariacture-y, and the couple don't, even though they are fleshed out in a more interesting manner.

Here's an example of the cringe -- the librarians see the couple interacting, and comment on how "he touches her the way we touch books." This observation is placed at the end of a brief chapter; the brief chapters normally function like "mic drops," with jarring endings that reveal the characters through an action or plot turn, incorporate something anecdotal and thoughtful. This... this was not thoughtful or interesting. I almost put this book down here. But I pressed on because I had such a pleasant memory of this author's reading and question session. I was rewarded in terms of the couple, but never in regards to the librarians. Nothing this outright cringe-y ever happens again, but I almost sighed every time I had to go back to their perspective. A technique she constantly uses is making the librarians return home from work and then collectively do the same cheesy thing at home. They longingly touch books, think about patrons, etc. It's not enjoyable.

A positive aspect of this book was how the mathematician's deafness was portrayed. It's a delicate subject that I think she deals with in a seemingly realistic manner. She navigates her relationship with a hearing-abled (no idea what the term for this is... sorry) person with moments of tenderness but also moments of tension and education.

One negative aspect of their relationship was the author's reliance on photography as a metaphor for the entire plot and the character's struggles. It's so cliche, and I kept reading the photography descriptions even though they did absolutely nothing for me.

I was continually pulled in to their relationship by its difference in the confusing forking paths. It was interesting to see how they behaved differently (or the same) through alternate pathways. Figuring out routines together, talking about art, etc. When Drager focuses on the little, ordinary details within this alternate pathways relationship was when it was at its best.

Don't wanna spoil anything, but I will say this -- the ending was really fantastic and made me feel more positively about this book as I put it down. It's ambiguous in a really subtle way. I simply asked myself if it was hopeful or sad, and realized there was no easy answer. Suddenly, I could use the librarians as a meaningful character, even though they were still a mulled-together conglomerate. There's a wealth of interpretation in the final image.

Was this book worth reading? I respond with a hesitant yes. I wouldn't recommend it, but I don't regret reading it.
Was this book different in a way that makes me want to revisit this author? Yes. She took a technique I ordinarily don't like and made it work for an entire book. I will be checking out her newest book, even though I felt so weird about this one.

[Salty Swift · Rating 5 out of 5]

Heart-breaking fictional account of a group of librarians who are mourning an impending closure of their workplace. Their sorrow and sense of gloom is tied into a accidental death of a girl that occurred recently just outside of the library. The elastic elongation of the end which must come is drawn out with great effect. The writing is superb as is the flow in this all too brief novel. Outstanding work!

[Jane · Rating 3 out of 5]

I don't usually read pretentious literary fiction, but I got sucked into checking out The Sorrow Proper by one of its themes – “the hypothetical end of the public library system”. I knew pretty early on it was a not a book for me, but since it was short (148 pages) I figured I'd finish it.

From the first page: “The hair has fallen out of the bottoms of their weak buns and their pocketbooks are tight against their sides. ... In the parking lot, the rain staining their cardigans dark, they decide to get a drink. ... All those shelves and shelves of books.... All that noise they’d been so diligent to hush.” Um, stereotype much? The Sorrow Proper is full of library and librarian stereotypes and, well, pretentiousness.

Everything about this book is depressing - from the relationship between the deaf mathematician and the photographer, which sometimes ends in her death and sometimes in his, to the emptying of the library of books to be replaced by computers, to the increasingly desperate drinking by the four stereotypical librarians, to the birds that fly into the library's windows and die, collecting on the windowsills until they decay.

“Is the library the building or the books? she thinks. It is an edifice as certain but abstract as math.” (p. 81). Is this profound or pretentious? I’m going with pretentious. Recommended for readers who like depressing pretentious literary fiction.

[Jean Doolittle · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm a librarian and I did not find myself in this group of aging, despairing librarians, who gather nightly to drink too much and mourn the passing of the idea and the existence of the library as a place of books. The author did not seem to know much about librarians and for that I could be critical, but I can forgive her for that because her book was not really set in my world, but in a parallel, different yet strikingly familiar world. The story is bleak and spare, colored in black and white and ambiguous shades of gray. There is love and loss and uncertainty and that I can truly relate to. Another review called it pretentious, but I would disagree....the story stretched to capture possibilities that are difficult to put words to. In a world where they are so many books (and I believe there always will be; although their appearances will change) I seldom reread novels, but I might make an exception for this one.

[Barbara · Rating 5 out of 5]

I picked this book up at my local library, first because I loved the cover, and second I found the title intriguing. Sadly I could not read the synopsis on the back of the book because the library had pasted the scan bar right on top of it, so I went into reading this book ignorant to its plot. Well I'm so glad I did, because this book was a wonderfully surprisingly fantastic read. I look forward to reading more from this author in the future. (Here is a blurb from the publisher: This debut novel explores the hypothetical end of the public library system and a young theory in the hard sciences called Many Worlds, a branch of quantum mechanics that strives to prove mathematically that our lives do not follow a singular, linear path.)

[thebaronessofbooks · Rating 2 out of 5]

When I can barely finish a book that's under two hundred pages, that's a bad sign. I wasn't sure if it was the book or me. I couldn't get into it and had zero desire to continue reading. Found most of the characters uninteresting and the dialog bland. The conflict was the only part that untreated me.

[Kay · Rating 2 out of 5]

Take one pretentious philosophy undergrad student, turn them into a book, and that's what this is. Boring and trying way too hard to be deep. Skip it.

[Shirleon Sharron · Rating 3 out of 5]

If I could give half stars this would be 3.5. I liked it but didn't love it. It's one I'll keep on my shelves but may not touch again for a number of years. Part of the reason for keeping it is the cover and title - they are so interesting! But I also want to have a variety of different types of books on my shelves once I get my own place. Now, I won't just keep any book - if it sucks, I'll get rid of it.

I picked this up for $.25 at a local library and thought it sounded interesting. A library closing due to the move towards e-books and computers and the librarians wishing to rebel against that. Turns out the book is more about a photographer and a deaf mathematician and their various Many Worlds than any of the other "plots" in the book. You also find out that a young girl was killed in front of the library and this greatly effects one of the librarians but you don't get much insight on that storyline. Also, the Many Worlds theory is only mentioned in conjunction with the photographer and the deaf mathematician (both of whom don't have names) so I don't really understand why it's described as how "Drager's debut novel explores the end of the public library system and the Many Worlds theory of quantum mechanics..." That led me to believe that the theory would be throughout each storyline.

I also greatly disliked the use of italics to convey speaking in the novel. Usually, italics are reserved for conveying thought or emphasis, but not so in this book. It made reading it a little more difficult because they sounded strange in my head. I guess it did make them (all the characters) sound a little sadder and longing, but I don't think the italics were necessary.

I will say that I love The Library at the end and it's a practically perfect image of something I would love to own sometime in my life.
____________________________________________________________

Language: None.

Explicitness: Some mention of the deaf mathematician being naked but nothing crazy.

[Adam Fisher · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book was way more artsy than I thought it was going to be. Being a library worker and reading this back blurb, which promises "explores the hypothetical end of the public library system and a young theory in the hard sciences called Many Worlds, a branch of quantum mechanics that strives to prove mathematically that our lives do not follow a singular, linear path" definitely made it sound like a book I wanted to read. (Just my type of very thoughtful stuff to read on occasion.)
What unfolded is two stories: one, about a group of librarians that are dealing with the changing of the library system from a place of only books, to a hybrid (what it is currently), to a building with no books. The question of "What makes a "library"?" is discussed at length here. AND two, the story of a photographer and his deaf mathematician lover, the former having his photos on display at the library, the latter the creator of the theory referenced above. Their love story is very melancholic as they both mourn each others death, having visualized a world where the other is gone.
Overall, not what I was expecting, but still a good book. Just very somber and bleak.
One question to be asked... How long will it take for the concept of "library" to become obsolete?

[Maddy · Rating 4 out of 5]

A book about absence and presence, the yes and no of potential. I was particularly taken by the exhibit and its "subtitles" at the end. It's a perfectly pleasant book to read -- although nothing exciting happens, it doesn't drag, and I finished it more quickly than I thought I would.

I wonder why this leans so heavily into stereotype. There are old librarians who all wear bifocals, who shush children constantly, who go drinking when they're sad and it rains when they're sad and all books are replaced by computers because young people never have interest in physical books anymore -- libraries are there for teenagers to have sex in -- and "Strange word, 'library.' What does it mean?" (Which: Isn't there something to be said about the accessibility of ebooks, especially coming from a book that is, to some extent, about that?) This was so present it almost seems exaggerated for a purpose, but I couldn't figure out what that purpose was. It feels boomer-y, in this way, and resistant to change.

[Rusty · Rating 5 out of 5]

A lovely book, though with a rather depressing tone. I would place it in the minimalist category. The language is spare, parsed, and well considered. Short scenes eventually make sense, though at the beginning they seem to be almost random.

The characters include a photographer and a deaf mathematician who become lovers, four librarians who's jobs are coming to an end, a grieving couple and a bartender, who, though always in the background, is an essential character. Beyond that there is not much that I can say. The book has to be read and experienced. It is absolutely worth your time.

[Jared Conti · Rating 5 out of 5]

Okay, so this is my sister-in-law's book, and maybe that's why I loved it more.

I think I need a second read, though, the timelines were confusing, and I was hankering for more something else while the action was going on. I wanted to know more, and wasn't patient enough.

The math was a lot of work for my brain, as was the experimental format of it. I'd also read an excerpt (or something) of this previously published in a journal.

My thoughts are confused about this, but I loved it.

I'd like more.

[Kate · Rating 4 out of 5]

4/5
An engaging novella that delves into grief and libraries. Twining together a love story between a deaf mathematician and a photographer with the story of a group of librarians preparing for their library to close, Drager explores the transition from books to digital, the multiverse theory, and communication. She touches on all of these pieces with grace and I am fascinated to see what else she explores in her other works.

[Rachel · Rating 3 out of 5]

Heady and slim and controlled. The metatext here (see also: use of the word METATEXT) is enormous and metaphysical and philosophical and atomic, but the story itself is quiet and real and familiar. A couple in love and grieving, librarians who drink at a bar. My biggest takeaway--Damn, DZANC books! Y'all got my number.

[Pie · Rating 3 out of 5]

really enjoyed the speed and care with which this spare little book moves, just wish it was less pretentious & “internet =/= progress, internet bad, books good, change = grief” - lots of fantastic concepts explored otherwise

[Vivienne Strauss · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book was amazing on so many levels.

[David Schuster · Rating 4 out of 5]

A lovely artistic exploration of death and loss of both people and a library. Ends optimistic. Quick read, chopped into tiny chapters to encourage reflection.

[Kelsey McIlroy · Rating 3 out of 5]

I found this book quite intriguing and thought provoking, although I can't say that I looked forward to picking it up each day. Not sure how to explain it. 🤔

[Kayden Ritchie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Highly recommend this one. Literally couldn’t put it down. It was so thought out and I love the way it’s written. Makes you think

[Robert Wechsler]

Well written, but a bit precious for me. Read until halfway.

[James Marlowe · Rating 5 out of 5]

star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star star