Ah, the ever-lyrical, even ifstared into from a cabin up above:snowy cloud-sonata which thenrecedes into softness with its airy iceberg flocks
can be the stuff of verse orcounterpoint, say, but can’tfeed serious fiction forthe yarnspinner has to eatthe heavy middle of our sandwich
rampaging all the way fromBaghdad Prepares for Attackto an ashtray smell orpuckered brocade on a chair.Novels know ... (read more)