I’m feeling more and more that he’s falling in love with me. I hope I’m wrong, but there are vibrations. He’s never called me so often before. Unfortunately, I can’t reciprocate if he does love me. I’ve never found myself in this position before, and I hope I can handle it okay. Probably he’s stable enough and cool enough not to let it get out of hand.
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SOS Racisme president Dominique Sopo summed-up the evening’s objective quite simply, “I think it’s very important that we do not kill those who died a second time by raising a polemic.” It brought the seriousness and perspective needed to round-out the speakers, officially hitting every note in the euphonic symphony of support that was the gala.
Paul Auster is perhaps the most accessible writer of those considered to be part of the “high establishment.” And you know the echelon I mean—Roth, Morrison, DeLillo, McCarthy, etc. Yet his new novel, which comes out today, is too accessible, toeing a dangerous line somewhere between the inventive plots of Jonathan Lethem (one of Auster’s own protégés) and the facile sentences of Dan Brown.