Saturday, January 17, 2015

General Theory of A Derailment

I don't think I'd know what a Novel is if it jumped out of a hole in the ground and slapped me on the face. More worrying, I don't really care what a Novel is and no desire to find out. The word Novel plucks no heart string in me. Rather it makes me think of English Detention.

Granted I spend a great deal of my time thinking about those bits of the past that I can remember, and a lot of it seemed to have been spent in detention. I guess too this particular writer of pulp is rather looking forward to The Rabbit of Usk reminding him of more recent times. Like the 1970's perhaps.

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