I am become a transparent eyeball March 13, 2012
Posted by The Typist in A Fiction, cryptical envelopment, New Orleans, Reality, The Narrative, Toulouse Street.trackback
“Serious critics, serious librarians, serious associate professors of English will if they read this work dislike it intensely, at least I hope so. To others I can only say that if this [work] has virtues they cannot be disentangled from from the faults; that there is a way of being wrong which is also sometimes necessarily right.
It will be objected that this [work] deals too much with mere appearances, with the surface of things, and fails to engage and reveal the patters of unifying relationships which form the true underlying nature of existence. Here I must confess that I know nothing whatever about true underlying reality, having never met any. There are many people who say they have, I know, but they’ve been luckier than I.”
— Edward Abbey, DESERT SOLITAIRE
or at these independent New Orleans bookstores:
My husband’s email address is a bastardization of Abbey’s character, George Hayduke. We once had the entire Abbey collection, but think it’s mostly gone now. Desert Solitaire, I believe, still resides with us, but I’d frankly prefer the Monkey Wrench Gang at this point.
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