You know, I began a try at this review writing about Iago in Othello and the nature of evil.
And about ennui and apathy.
And that the answer is: nothing.
And how I felt deep empathy for Maria.
And then I deleted it all.
This is my review: This novel depressed the fuck out of me.
That, and giving it four stars, should sum it up.
|Design by Olympia Le-Tan|
~ Joseph Brinson (a.k.a., "Quixada"), a poet and a longtime online pal, made me fucking howl when I first read his deadpanned piece on Play It As It Lays years and years ago. Yes, it is brief — yet is playfully, skillfully thorough. His homage still slays me today.