Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Sunday, November 19, 2017
Tuesday, October 3, 2017
Written on the Body by Jeanette Wintersen
****I'M GOING TO WRITE THIS BLOG ENTRY A LITTLE AT A TIME**********
"Why is the measure of love loss?
It hasn't rained for three months. The trees are prospecting underground, sending reserves of roots into the dry ground, roots like razors to open any artery water-fat.
The grapes have withered on the vine. What should be plump and firm, resisting the touch to give itself in the mouth, is spongy and blistered. Not this year the pleasure of rolling blue grapes between finger and thumb juicing my palm with musk. Even the wasps avoid the thin brown dribble. Even the wasps this year. It was not always so."
So begins this novel. There is an air of stillness, eeriness and destruction that's come in the wake of a tragedy/loss. The narrator has lost something and is trying to understand (with forensic detail) this new state of affairs. It's an uncomfortable place to be - and "narrator" doesn't shrink from bringing the reader right there.
This blog has been similarly neglected and consequently has not produced as I had hoped it would. So I am returning to it to see if I can't turn that around. I finished Written on the Body a while back - I will try and remember as best I can...
Some back story : my brother gave me this book about 15 years ago. He was in college and I was still in high school. He told me it was his favorite book. As I've said elsewhere in this blog, I am always keen to read something that someone claims is their favorite book, especially if I am particularly curious about that person. I always hope that the book will give me some insight into who they are.
I began the book back then but never finished it for some reason. It came back around recently in a book club I created based on musician Jeff Buckley's personal library.
This is an intense book - the narrator keeps you pressed up close against him/her (the narrator is gender-fluid) and never lets you go. She shares everything - holds nothing back. And yet, she remains a distant figure who seems difficult to get to know. Even so, it's a very brave way to go about writing.
The plot: this is a story about two lovers and about learning how to genuinely connect with another person without preconceived notions about how it is "supposed" to be done. The narrator calls these "cliches" and advises all to fervently avoid them. The narrator loves a woman named Louise. Louise is married to a man she doesn't love.
This book has the feel of intense confession - a confession that will only redeem in direct proportion to how truthful it is. It also has an archaeological feel - only through digging up the past can the narrator order and give meaning to her experiences.
The main story is between the narrator and Louise, however the narrator does touch upon other liaisons she's had in the past. Each lover is their own world, and the narrator dives into their world with abandon to discover the topography of that world:
“Explore me,' you said and I collected my ropes, flasks and maps, expecting to be back home soon. I dropped into the mass of you and I cannot find the way out. Sometimes I think I’m free, coughed up like Jonah from the whale, but then I turn a corner and recognise myself again. Myself in your skin, myself lodged in your bones, myself floating in the cavities that decorate every surgeon’s wall. That is how I know you. You are what I know.”
It's painful each time that the narrator must escape from a liaison and it all falls apart. "I thought of Caliban chained to his pitted rock. 'The red plague rid you for learning me your language.'" This book is a true testament to how painful, ugly, devastating & wretched it can be to fall in love. As the narrator struggles to make it new (according to her the most unoriginal thing we can say to one another is "I love you.") what she's chasing, love, often turns violent on her.
My confession is that I am not as brave as this narrator. She keeps going back into the fray, I've gotten to a point in my life that the possibility of such havoc turns me off. I am more reluctant than I am excited. This book though is alive with the effort of being/remaining hopeful about loving others. Also, and I suspect that on some level she/he understands this, success in relationships should not be measured by whether or not the relationship lasts. To begin to believe that is like going to sleep but believing you're still awake. Success is to hold on to what allows you to still want to make the effort.
This kinda implies another thing, if you are someone who discourages people from making the effort with you, you are not inviting success. I tend to struggle with skeptical, suspicious thoughts about others - I've never been a very trusting person. Actually, scratch that, I've never been good at evaluating whether or not my trust is warranted, so I've bypassed this weakness by trying to be mistrusting of everyone. It's an artificial approach and people come to know it as such as they come to know me.
I have my better moments though. Anyway, I mean to say that it does no good to seek what you do not encourage.
This kinda implies another thing, if you are someone who discourages people from making the effort with you, you are not inviting success. I tend to struggle with skeptical, suspicious thoughts about others - I've never been a very trusting person. Actually, scratch that, I've never been good at evaluating whether or not my trust is warranted, so I've bypassed this weakness by trying to be mistrusting of everyone. It's an artificial approach and people come to know it as such as they come to know me.
I have my better moments though. Anyway, I mean to say that it does no good to seek what you do not encourage.
So, bottom line to any would-be reader out there, this a book of the interior. If you do not like the "inner monologue" type book you will not like this. If you do, I'd give this a try. It is a well-written, honest book written by what I think is a unique voice.
PART TWO : THE BODY
Sunday, June 11, 2017
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
The Two Lives of Eugene Bullard
THE GREAT WAR | ARTICLE
The Two Lives of Eugene Bullard
How the first black combat pilot escaped America,
became a hero in France, and ended up an elevator
operator in New York.
By Cori Brosnahan

In his own words, Eugene Bullard was the “first known Negro military pilot.”
That, at least, was what was printed on his business cards. By that time, after a
quarter-century in France, Bullard was back in the U.S., living in New York City,
where he worked variously as a security guard, a perfume vendor, and a
Rockefeller Center elevator operator. First known Negro military pilot; Bullard
was a man both proud and humble, and his business card reflected that. But it
also reflected the world in which he lived. His was not a first that had been
formally recognized — much less celebrated. The story of how Eugene Bullard
became the first black combat pilot, and why his achievement stayed in the
shadows for so long, is a tale of alternate realities, of what happens when
opportunity is offered or denied — and, ultimately, seized regardless.
Born in Columbus, Georgia in 1895, Bullard would recall that as a child, he was
“as trusting as a chickadee and as friendly.” For a while, his parents were able to
insulate him from the realities of racism so that he “loved everybody and thought
everybody loved me.” But they could only do so much. When Bullard’s father got
into a fight with a racist supervisor, a lynch mob came to the house. Bullard’s
father survived, but was forced to go into hiding. Dreaming of a place “where
white people treated colored people like human beings,” Bullard decided to run
away. Accounts vary, but he was likely only 11 when he left home.
For the next five years, Bullard roamed around Georgia, encountering kindness
and cruelty from a wide cast of characters along the way. At one point, he joined
a band of English gypsies who opened his eyes to the possibility of a better life
for African Americans in Europe. Crossing the Atlantic would become Bullard’s
new objective; in 1912, at the age of 16, he stowed away on a ship leaving
Norfolk, Virginia for Germany. It dropped him off in Scotland, where people
treated him “just like one of their own.” Within 24 hours, he was “born into a
new world” and “began to love everyone” once again.
From Scotland, Bullard would make his way to England. He took whatever jobs he
could find, including: street performer, dock-worker, target for an amusement
park game, helper on a fish wagon, and boxer — the last of which would eventually
take him to France. Bullard was instantly smitten, recalling later how “it seemed
to me that the French democracy influenced the minds of both white and black
Americans there and helped us to act like brothers as near as possible.” France
would become so important to Bullard that he would rewrite his own biography to
imbue his arrival there with a sense of destiny; in Bullard’s memoir “All Blood
Runs Red,” his father has French roots, and it is the dream of France that pulls
him away from Georgia in the first place.

So it was no surprise when, just 19-years-old, Bullard joined the fabled
French Foreign Legion to fight for his adopted country against Germany
in the Great War. He was later transferred to a standard French army
unit and fought at the Battle of Verdun, where he was seriously injured
attempting to carry a message from one French officer to another. The
wound would take him out of ground combat permanently; his heroism
would earn him the Croix de Guerre military decoration.
It was during his convalescence at a clinic in Lyon that he became
acquainted with a French air service officer who promised to help him
become an aircraft gunner. The officer made good on his word; in
October of 1916, Bullard began training as a gunner at a military air
station near Bordeaux. There he learned about the Lafayette Escadrille,
a squad of American fighter pilots flying under the French flag. The
Escadrille was well-compensatedand undeniably glamorous (their
mascots were two lion cubs named Whiskey and Soda).
Bullard immediately asked to train as a pilot rather than a gunner. He
would receive his pilot’s license seven months later. Celebrating his
achievement with friends in Paris, he later recalled that, “by midnight
every American in Paris knew that an American Negro by the name of
Eugene Bullard, born in Georgia, had obtained a military pilot’s license.”
As for Americans back in America, they remained ignorant of Bullard’s
achievement. It was not reported in American newspapers or magazines, save a
small item in the January 1918 issue of The Crisis, a journal produced by the
NAACP, which said only that Bullard had “enlisted in the Aviation-Corps.”
Bullard’s biographer Craig Lloyd notes that the American military had privately
decided not to accept African Americans, and the media silence “may have been
a result of censorship, official or self-imposed, by the American press.”
Bullard would soon feel the sting of that rejection directly. After America entered
the war in April of 1917, Bullard — who still loved the country he’d left — applied to
fly for the American Expeditionary Forces. He was rejected. Still, he derived
“some comfort out of knowing that I was able to go on fighting on the same front
and in the same cause as other citizens of the U.S.”
He could not have known that his career would soon be cut short entirely. The
end of the war was still a year away. Bullard, who had flown some 20 missions,
was a competent pilot who had earned the trust and respect of his comrades. So
the American was surprised and confused when French military authorities
ordered him out of aviation and into a noncombat position in the infantry.
The exact reasons remain murky. According to Bullard, the dismissal could be
traced back to Edmund C. Gros, the primary American liaison for the Lafayette
Escadrille. Bullard had a tiff with a racist French officer and Gros had used what
seemed to Bullard a minor incident to oust him. In their 1972 biography of
Bullard, P.J. Carisella and James W. Ryan would reject their subject’s
conjecture; instead, they relay a story ostensibly supported by Bullard’s
wartime acquaintances, in which Bullard is relieved of his duties after
committing a far greater offense — punching a French lieutenant. Craig
Lloyd, writing almost three decades later, acknowledges that the
evidence against Gros is circumstantial, but believes it ultimately
“confirms Bullard’s suspicion.”

We may never know what happened, but context helps fill in the picture.
When Carisella and Ryan discarded the idea that Gros could have been
behind Bullard’s dismissal, they did so reasoning that it “seems hardly
credible that white Americans living in wartimeParis could still practice
When Carisella and Ryan discarded the idea that Gros could have been
behind Bullard’s dismissal, they did so reasoning that it “seems hardly
credible that white Americans living in wartimeParis could still practice
their age-old prejudices and deprive France of such a badly needed fighter.”
But it is clear that Jim Crow had arrived in France with the American
Expeditionary Force in late 1917 and early 1918. As Lloyd explains,
Expeditionary Force in late 1917 and early 1918. As Lloyd explains,
American officers believed that the morale of their white American soldiers
would suffer if they “saw black American troops enjoying freedom from
segregation and discrimination, and especially the freedom to
associate with white women.” Measures were taken to disparage black troops;
white officers publicly accused them of everything from cowardice to rape.
white officers publicly accused them of everything from cowardice to rape.
Perhaps the most blatant and notorious display of American racism in France was
the Linard Memo. The confidential document advised French military and civilian
authorities that “although a citizen of the United States, the black man is
regarded by the white American as an inferior being with whom relations of
business or service only are possible.” It went on urging them to “prevent the rise
of any pronounced degree of intimacy between French officers and black
officers” because “we cannot deal with them on the same plane as with
the white American officers without deeply wounding the latter.”
Though signed by a Frenchman, it was composed by a French-American
committee, and clearly reflects American attitudes; when the memo
came to light in France, it was roundly denounced by the government.
the Linard Memo. The confidential document advised French military and civilian
authorities that “although a citizen of the United States, the black man is
regarded by the white American as an inferior being with whom relations of
business or service only are possible.” It went on urging them to “prevent the rise
of any pronounced degree of intimacy between French officers and black
officers” because “we cannot deal with them on the same plane as with
the white American officers without deeply wounding the latter.”
Though signed by a Frenchman, it was composed by a French-American
committee, and clearly reflects American attitudes; when the memo
came to light in France, it was roundly denounced by the government.
For all the U.S. military’s attempts to re-create the American racial paradigm
overseas, they couldn’t control everything. African American soldiers returned to
America after the war with a wholly different sense of themselves and their
place in the world. That newfound consciousness would influence the struggle for
equal rights in the decades to come.
Eugene Bullard, whose wounds entitled him to French citizenship, would remain
in Paris after the war. There he became a successful nightclub impresario and
gym owner. He lived at the starry center of a Parisian post-war society; Josephine
Baker babysat for him; Langston Hughes washed dishes at his cabaret; Ernest
Hemingway based a character on him.
Bullard’s life in France came to an end with World War II. Volunteering once again
to fight for France, he was wounded. Forced to flee to neutral Spain, Bullard
would escape embattled Europe for America aboard a steamship, crossing the
Atlantic for the second time, in the opposite direction, almost three decades
after his original voyage. He would live out the rest of his days in New York,
where he enthusiastically took part in the French cultural life of the city. Two
years before his death in 1961, the French made him a Knight of the Legion of
Honor; thirty-three years after his death, the United States Air Force appointed
him a second lieutenant.

America was and is a country to which people from all over the world come for
the opportunity to realize their full potential. But Eugene Bullard and countless
other African Americans had to leave it to realize theirs, and many who stayed
never had the chance. In that, Bullard’s story is a testament to what prejudice
has cost all Americans. “Bullard’s two lives,” writes Lloyd in his epilogue, “the
one in America and the other in France, illustrate the colossal spiritual, social,
and economic waste to this nation caused by the tenacious denial to black
people of their inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
people of their inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
Sources:
Craig Lloyd, Eugene Bullard: Black Expatriate in Jazz-Age Paris (Athens, Georgia: University
of Georgia Press, 2000).
Eugene J. Bullard, manuscript for “All Blood Runs Red: My Adventurous Life in Search of
Freedom,”
Louise Fox Connell collection, Schlesinger Library, Radcliffe Institute, Harvard University.
P.J. Carsella and James W. Ryan, The Black Swallow of Death (Boston: Marlborough House,
1972).
of Georgia Press, 2000).
Eugene J. Bullard, manuscript for “All Blood Runs Red: My Adventurous Life in Search of
Freedom,”
Louise Fox Connell collection, Schlesinger Library, Radcliffe Institute, Harvard University.
P.J. Carsella and James W. Ryan, The Black Swallow of Death (Boston: Marlborough House,
1972).
Article is courtesy of The American Experience, PBS.
Sunday, May 7, 2017
Modern Library's 100 Best Novels
How many have you read? Favorites?
THE BOARD'S LIST
- ULYSSESby James Joyce
- THE GREAT GATSBYby F. Scott Fitzgerald
- A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MANby James Joyce
- LOLITAby Vladimir Nabokov
- BRAVE NEW WORLDby Aldous Huxley
- THE SOUND AND THE FURYby William Faulkner
- CATCH-22by Joseph Heller
- DARKNESS AT NOONby Arthur Koestler
- SONS AND LOVERSby D.H. Lawrence
- THE GRAPES OF WRATHby John Steinbeck
- UNDER THE VOLCANOby Malcolm Lowry
- THE WAY OF ALL FLESHby Samuel Butler
- 1984by George Orwell
- I, CLAUDIUSby Robert Graves
- TO THE LIGHTHOUSEby Virginia Woolf
- AN AMERICAN TRAGEDYby Theodore Dreiser
- THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTERby Carson McCullers
- SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVEby Kurt Vonnegut
- INVISIBLE MANby Ralph Ellison
- NATIVE SONby Richard Wright
- HENDERSON THE RAIN KINGby Saul Bellow
- APPOINTMENT IN SAMARRAby John O’Hara
- U.S.A.(trilogy)by John Dos Passos
- WINESBURG, OHIOby Sherwood Anderson
- A PASSAGE TO INDIAby E.M. Forster
- THE WINGS OF THE DOVEby Henry James
- THE AMBASSADORSby Henry James
- TENDER IS THE NIGHTby F. Scott Fitzgerald
- THE STUDS LONIGAN TRILOGYby James T. Farrell
- THE GOOD SOLDIERby Ford Madox Ford
- ANIMAL FARMby George Orwell
- THE GOLDEN BOWLby Henry James
- SISTER CARRIEby Theodore Dreiser
- A HANDFUL OF DUSTby Evelyn Waugh
- AS I LAY DYINGby William Faulkner
- ALL THE KING’S MENby Robert Penn Warren
- THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REYby Thornton Wilder
- HOWARDS ENDby E.M. Forster
- GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAINby James Baldwin
- THE HEART OF THE MATTERby Graham Greene
- LORD OF THE FLIESby William Golding
- DELIVERANCEby James Dickey
- A DANCE TO THE MUSIC OF TIME (series)by Anthony Powell
- POINT COUNTER POINTby Aldous Huxley
- THE SUN ALSO RISESby Ernest Hemingway
- THE SECRET AGENTby Joseph Conrad
- NOSTROMOby Joseph Conrad
- THE RAINBOWby D.H. Lawrence
- WOMEN IN LOVEby D.H. Lawrence
- TROPIC OF CANCERby Henry Miller
- THE NAKED AND THE DEADby Norman Mailer
- PORTNOY’S COMPLAINTby Philip Roth
- PALE FIREby Vladimir Nabokov
- LIGHT IN AUGUSTby William Faulkner
- ON THE ROADby Jack Kerouac
- THE MALTESE FALCONby Dashiell Hammett
- PARADE’S ENDby Ford Madox Ford
- THE AGE OF INNOCENCEby Edith Wharton
- ZULEIKA DOBSONby Max Beerbohm
- THE MOVIEGOERby Walker Percy
- DEATH COMES FOR THE ARCHBISHOPby Willa Cather
- FROM HERE TO ETERNITYby James Jones
- THE WAPSHOT CHRONICLESby John Cheever
- THE CATCHER IN THE RYEby J.D. Salinger
- A CLOCKWORK ORANGEby Anthony Burgess
- OF HUMAN BONDAGEby W. Somerset Maugham
- HEART OF DARKNESSby Joseph Conrad
- MAIN STREETby Sinclair Lewis
- THE HOUSE OF MIRTHby Edith Wharton
- THE ALEXANDRIA QUARTETby Lawrence Durell
- A HIGH WIND IN JAMAICAby Richard Hughes
- A HOUSE FOR MR BISWASby V.S. Naipaul
- THE DAY OF THE LOCUSTby Nathanael West
- A FAREWELL TO ARMSby Ernest Hemingway
- SCOOPby Evelyn Waugh
- THE PRIME OF MISS JEAN BRODIEby Muriel Spark
- FINNEGANS WAKEby James Joyce
- KIMby Rudyard Kipling
- A ROOM WITH A VIEWby E.M. Forster
- BRIDESHEAD REVISITEDby Evelyn Waugh
- THE ADVENTURES OF AUGIE MARCHby Saul Bellow
- ANGLE OF REPOSEby Wallace Stegner
- A BEND IN THE RIVERby V.S. Naipaul
- THE DEATH OF THE HEARTby Elizabeth Bowen
- LORD JIMby Joseph Conrad
- RAGTIMEby E.L. Doctorow
- THE OLD WIVES’ TALEby Arnold Bennett
- THE CALL OF THE WILDby Jack London
- LOVINGby Henry Green
- MIDNIGHT’S CHILDRENby Salman Rushdie
- TOBACCO ROADby Erskine Caldwell
- IRONWEEDby William Kennedy
- THE MAGUSby John Fowles
- WIDE SARGASSO SEAby Jean Rhys
- UNDER THE NETby Iris Murdoch
- SOPHIE’S CHOICEby William Styron
- THE SHELTERING SKYby Paul Bowles
- THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICEby James M. Cain
- THE GINGER MANby J.P. Donleavy
- THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONSby Booth Tarkington
THE READER'S LIST
- ATLAS SHRUGGEDby Ayn Rand
- THE FOUNTAINHEADby Ayn Rand
- BATTLEFIELD EARTHby L. Ron Hubbard
- THE LORD OF THE RINGSby J.R.R. Tolkien
- TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRDby Harper Lee
- 1984by George Orwell
- ANTHEMby Ayn Rand
- WE THE LIVINGby Ayn Rand
- MISSION EARTHby L. Ron Hubbard
- FEARby L. Ron Hubbard
- ULYSSESby James Joyce
- CATCH-22by Joseph Heller
- THE GREAT GATSBYby F. Scott Fitzgerald
- DUNEby Frank Herbert
- THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESSby Robert Heinlein
- STRANGER IN A STRANGE LANDby Robert Heinlein
- A TOWN LIKE ALICEby Nevil Shute
- BRAVE NEW WORLDby Aldous Huxley
- THE CATCHER IN THE RYEby J.D. Salinger
- ANIMAL FARMby George Orwell
- GRAVITY’S RAINBOWby Thomas Pynchon
- THE GRAPES OF WRATHby John Steinbeck
- SLAUGHTERHOUSE FIVEby Kurt Vonnegut
- GONE WITH THE WINDby Margaret Mitchell
- LORD OF THE FLIESby William Golding
- SHANEby Jack Schaefer
- TRUSTEE FROM THE TOOLROOMby Nevil Shute
- A PRAYER FOR OWEN MEANYby John Irving
- THE STANDby Stephen King
- THE FRENCH LIEUTENANT’S WOMANby John Fowles
- BELOVEDby Toni Morrison
- THE WORM OUROBOROSby E.R. Eddison
- THE SOUND AND THE FURYby William Faulkner
- LOLITAby Vladimir Nabokov
- MOONHEARTby Charles de Lint
- ABSALOM, ABSALOM!by William Faulkner
- OF HUMAN BONDAGEby W. Somerset Maugham
- WISE BLOODby Flannery O’Connor
- UNDER THE VOLCANOby Malcolm Lowry
- FIFTH BUSINESSby Robertson Davies
- SOMEPLACE TO BE FLYINGby Charles de Lint
- ON THE ROADby Jack Kerouac
- HEART OF DARKNESSby Joseph Conrad
- YARROWby Charles de Lint
- AT THE MOUNTAINS OF MADNESSby H.P. Lovecraft
- ONE LONELY NIGHTby Mickey Spillane
- MEMORY AND DREAMby Charles de Lint
- TO THE LIGHTHOUSEby Virginia Woolf
- THE MOVIEGOERby Walker Percy
- TRADERby Charles de Lint
- THE HITCHHIKER’S GUIDE TO THE GALAXYby Douglas Adams
- THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTERby Carson McCullers
- THE HANDMAID’S TALEby Margaret Atwood
- BLOOD MERIDIANby Cormac McCarthy
- A CLOCKWORK ORANGEby Anthony Burgess
- ON THE BEACHby Nevil Shute
- A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MANby James Joyce
- GREENMANTLEby Charles de Lint
- ENDER’S GAMEby Orson Scott Card
- THE LITTLE COUNTRYby Charles de Lint
- THE RECOGNITIONSby William Gaddis
- STARSHIP TROOPERSby Robert Heinlein
- THE SUN ALSO RISESby Ernest Hemingway
- THE WORLD ACCORDING TO GARPby John Irving
- SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMESby Ray Bradbury
- THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSEby Shirley Jackson
- AS I LAY DYINGby William Faulkner
- TROPIC OF CANCERby Henry Miller
- INVISIBLE MANby Ralph Ellison
- THE WOOD WIFEby Terri Windling
- THE MAGUSby John Fowles
- THE DOOR INTO SUMMERby Robert Heinlein
- ZEN AND THE ART OF MOTORCYCLE MAINTENANCEby Robert Pirsig
- I, CLAUDIUSby Robert Graves
- THE CALL OF THE WILDby Jack London
- AT SWIM-TWO-BIRDSby Flann O’Brien
- FARENHEIT 451by Ray Bradbury
- ARROWSMITHby Sinclair Lewis
- WATERSHIP DOWNby Richard Adams
- NAKED LUNCHby William S. Burroughs
- THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBERby Tom Clancy
- GUILTY PLEASURESby Laurell K. Hamilton
- THE PUPPET MASTERSby Robert Heinlein
- ITby Stephen King
- V.by Thomas Pynchon
- DOUBLE STARby Robert Heinlein
- CITIZEN OF THE GALAXYby Robert Heinlein
- BRIDESHEAD REVISITEDby Evelyn Waugh
- LIGHT IN AUGUSTby William Faulkner
- ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NESTby Ken Kesey
- A FAREWELL TO ARMSby Ernest Hemingway
- THE SHELTERING SKYby Paul Bowles
- SOMETIMES A GREAT NOTIONby Ken Kesey
- MY ANTONIAby Willa Cather
- MULENGROby Charles de Lint
- SUTTREEby Cormac McCarthy
- MYTHAGO WOODby Robert Holdstock
- ILLUSIONSby Richard Bach
- THE CUNNING MANby Robertson Davies
- THE SATANIC VERSESby Salman Rushdie
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