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Heart pounding, I walked through the doors of 5 rue Gaston-Gallimard late Wednesday afternoon—the headquarters of Éditions Gallimard. First person I spotted? Philippe Sollers himself, striding past. Already I knew this wouldn't be an ordinary evening.
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"She taught me that seeking approval from others should never be my goal; she freed me in ways I couldn't free myself." "Think quality writing gives you a halo? The moment someone reads it, you're exposed."
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"And if there was Something up there aware of all this, well then screw Him, screw His plans, screw what was written." When you love New York, resisting a book about it becomes impossible. Even harder when the writing cuts this sharp.
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"And she's alive. To what end? She stayed. Stays. Kills time. Like all of them, these pitiful women with their newspaper ads, desperation palpable behind the cheer." November 1920: Northern France is a graveyard disguised as countryside.
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"Your whole life, you love people you never truly know." First volume of Ferrante's saga didn't completely hook me. But the second? Couldn't resist. Not after reading Delphine's rave reviews and others piling on. Sometimes peer pressure works.
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