I'm trying to pretend my job isn't eating my brain by spending at least a few minutes a day with Robert Hughes' Fatal Shore. Some day when I'm not rushing off to work, watching my twenties spin away from me like a dead goldfish down the shitter, I'll write about it more at length, but suffice to say now it's like watching an awesome car wreck.
I liked his book about Goya better because it had more pictures and was better organized; Fatal Shore is all over the place, with apparently the only organizing factor being an artistic rise and fall of gross-out factors and accounts of indignation-rousing monstrosities. Of course, that has its own morbid charm, and I'm not considering looking away as long as I'm not slowing down the traffic behind me.
2 commenti:
So this book is non-fiction then..I haven't heard of it. That means absolutely nothing though..
How is your job eating your brain?
My job is hard, and that hasn't happened before, so it hurts. As for the book. . . I gave it up as a bad job and moved on to 'An Anthropologist on Mars,' which I'll probably write about later because it's way better.
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