I fell asleep reading a book, something that hasn't happened in over a decade. I've forgotten what it's like to feel pages turning, almost, the words under fingers, undulating with my even breaths. I've always wondered, at what point does the reader become the story? (It cannot and should never only be the other way around; I'd like to think that
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also, is the Chernobyl book this one? Because if so I know one of the guys the guy (singular, there is only one) who translated it WTF
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also, yes it is exactly that book. when you say you know the guy who translated it what do you mean OH MY GOD THIS IS SO AMAZING I LOVE THE BOOK.
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i know him as he runs a highbrow literary magazine (self-proclaimed most "important literary magazine of our generation") one block down from the publishing house i intern at, and sometimes comes in to visit, because the lit community is pretentious and incestuous like that. the magazine was/is kinda controversial (accusations of ivy league blinders / elitism etc) and he gets a lot, like a lot, of shit from gawker (although they admit he totally rocks the blowjob lips). speaking of fitzgerald references, he wrote a novel that came out recently. I didn't know he'd also translated that book until he mentioned it a little while ago. and I remembered seeing that book around two or three years ago, on the stands in the windows of bookstores. actually, it may've stuck out so much in my mind because of the kakasheva associations. *LOSES*
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it kills me to think that such an amazing translator could have crack-level blowjob lips, by the way. amazing, much?
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