Ari Messer: The Last Book I Loved, Ablutions
Why is the second person such a natural and addictive tense–perhaps the only honest one–when writing about drug abuse and a foggy recovery?
For years, you haven’t been able to stop asking this question. Reading Patrick deWitt’s Ablutions: Notes for a Novel, you are asking it again, vocally (a real dinner-party silencer), by mistake or with motivations hidden from even yourself.
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Why has the work of Robert Vickrey, one of the last living masters of egg tempera, remained so obscure?