![]() ![]() How did this emerge from what came before it? I was drowning in a lazy sea of words when an icy pair of hands plunged through the surface and gripped me by the collar and pulled me up gasping for air. This two page episode though came out of nowhere, I was almost flabbergasted. It feels always-on (to borrow a marketing buzzword)–or that's how I'm romanticizing it–and is like a steady drip of intoxication. ![]() The Unbearable Lightness of Being, for example, is a firehose of beautifully articulated thought and experience. ![]() Perhaps this collision has even more weight in his books that are less enthralling (to me). ![]() There were two pages around 150-151 that hit me like an unexpected punch to the face (not that I would know what that's like). It took me longer to get through than I wanted, and if it wasn't for a 7-hour plane ride to Madrid probably even longer (this was finished in a studio apartment right off the Plaza Matute, which is stones throw from the center of the city). That being said, it only made me want to read his entire collection more. Easier read than Immortality, but it didn't reach me like Kundera's greats (Unbearable Lightness of Being, Book of Laughter and Forgetting, Farewell Party). ![]()
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