“The past. That’s all it is. A dead currency. She runs ringers over the stubble of the buzz cut on her scalp, feeling the occasional scar, counts five different ones, each with their own story.” If you enjoy your sleep, do not pick this book up. If there is one thing Bergen does right (and…
“Stories are as slippery as seasons; it’s beyond my power to make either stand still. I try to tell them the same way, but each telling leads to small changes; something is added to the structure, a change of pace, a tweak of testimonies, all of them make circles in our minds.” There are few…
“’He comes not for what you need, but for what you do not want,’ said the monk. ‘He is the unremembered man. He is the shadow, not the shadow-caster. He is the shadow of forgotten things, of neglect and of apathy and of lost cities. He is the end of all stories. He was the…
Acerbic Writing 