Another instance of Self-less Self-sacrificing Self-owning
Books that made me: Will Self.
The ponceyness police are on high alert: [N]ow I read scores - perhaps hundreds - of books at once, I’m released from the compulsion to complete any given volume. In the digital realm, texts merge into and swim out of each other - this is the great palimpsest of pixels that is steadily replacing the physical (and intellectual) canon.
I was beginning to be tempted to suppose that 'Will Self' is actually a parody, a figure of performance art - My comfort read
Um, do you know who I am?
but then, happenstancefully, while browsing the shelves of the local charity shops while out shopping today, I spotted several volumes from Mr Self's oeuvre on their shelves -
No, dr rdrz, I was not tempted, not even in the interests of A Good Cause.
Rather, I was envisaging that this was the aftermath of the breakup of a relationship in which the bloke had been pressing the works of Self upon his inamorata and her first act, upon ending it, was to get them out of the house, unwept, unhonoured, and unread. This entry was originally posted at https://oursin.dreamwidth.org/2806911.html. Please comment there using OpenID. View
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