Okay, maybe not every fan of Virgil will love this, but after spending five years reading the Aeneid and five months translating Books I and IV, this fan of Virgil is willing to trade him up for a new kind of epic that exchanges the depth of time for the depth of the human psyche. And the sound of it?--well it downright makes the rest of it go down. McBride's words will rock you into a stupor, not unlike a state of paralysis, in which for the first the time--if your heart is stronger than your stomach and if you are one of those who may be able not only to squish grammar between your toes but relish the gooey feeling of what is left--the world awaits you, untrammeled siren in the raw.
Reading: links to my reading of a few lines from Lesser Bohemians
Commets: links to my humble opinion of those same few lines from Lesser Bohemians
For all of us who believe there is not one way. One genre. One spirit. One answer. Or even one question. This blog is for the writer before she was so, as well as for the reader who defies her expectations every time: it is for the poets, satirists, fiction writers, essayists, diarists, and ancient word wanderers; this blog is for the infinitely unwritten. To each, a celebration. A celebration to all.