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Me and Sylvia, smiling for the camera (August 2005)

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Liberty is not a woman walking the streets, she is not sitting on a bench waiting for an invitation to dinner, to come sleep in our bed for the rest of her life.

José Saramago


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Something else about Annie Proulx -- it is amazing to me the way time passes in her stories. I am 3/4 of the way through Postcards and the story has spanned about 30 or 40 years so far; but I have no sense that I have missed parts of the story skipped over, or that I have been rushed along. Instead I feel like I have been listening to the story for 30 or 40 years. (Which is not to say the story is dragging -- it's not, it's gripping -- it seems to me like a huge accomplishment for her to be able to hold my attention for virtual decades.)

posted afternoon of Monday, January 9th, 2006
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