Tuesday, July 2, 2024

The Making of Incarnation by Tom McCarthy

 

This is a book. It contains words. Those words describe people, places, things, and activities. What the words in the book describe seems to fall into a few different threads, which don't really seem to have any meaningful connection to each other. There is roughly no tension in the book, if it were a person I'd describe it as having "flat affect," nothing really goes anywhere and anything that might have had any meaning or point disappears like farts in the wind.

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The Fox by Frederick Forsyth

  I've read a handful of Forsyth's novels, some from the 1960s, and it's nice to find some of his later work. This feels a bit s...