"Greg Adkins"
https://www.goodreads.com/umbrasprite
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although we think of narrative as a temporal art, experienced in time like music, of course it’s interestingly visual, too; a story’s as much house or garden as song. Northrop Frye puts it this way: “We hear or listen to a narrative, but
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“Her doctoral dissertation was to have been on the “saturation hypothesis,” a theory of her own devising which held that every word in a work of literature, far from having one or two most likely meanings, meant everything that any reader could make of it, and that each supposed meaning was of equal value to all others. This theory, she said, dovetailed with other current literary theories that gave more power to critics and less to writers, who tended to write with finite intentions.”
― Pieces for the Left Hand: Stories
― Pieces for the Left Hand: Stories
“Melanie,’ I plucked up courage to ask at last, ‘why do you have such a funny name?’ She blushed. ‘When I was born I looked like a melon.’ ‘Don’t worry,’ I reassured her, ‘you don’t any more.”
― Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit
― Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit
“The jazz band stopped dead. The clock’s chimes launched into the lament of the Westminster bells. A terrible silence hovered. “Ha!” said Hildesheim. “Ha!” said Bobby Moos. Right then the band sensed death.”
― Whiskey Tales
― Whiskey Tales
“There is a city surrounded by water with watery alleys that do for streets and roads and silted up back ways that only the rats can cross. Miss your way, which is easy to do, and you may find yourself staring at a hundred eyes guarding a filthy palace of sacks and bones. Find your way, which is easy to do, and you may meet an old woman in a doorway. She will tell your fortune, depending on your face. This is the city of mazes.”
― The Passion
― The Passion
“Exterminators refer to old rats as Moby Dicks. “Rats that survive to the age of four are the wisest and the most cynical beasts on earth,” one exterminator says. “A trap means nothing to them, no matter how skillfully set. They just kick it around until it snaps; then they eat the bait. And they can detect poisoned bait a yard off. I believe some of them can read. If you get a few Moby Dicks in your house, there are just two things you can do: you can wait for them to die, or you can burn your house down and start all over again.”
― An Editor’s Burial: Journals and Journalism from the New Yorker and Other Magazines
― An Editor’s Burial: Journals and Journalism from the New Yorker and Other Magazines
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