There is something about reading George Saunders that makes self want to laugh in irrepressible delight (Sorry. There was a time when only self knew the two words: George Saunders. She decided he would be her secret indulgence, for the rest of her life. Then he became quote unquote famous. Now, when she shares her love for a George Saunders sentence, she sounds overly enthusiastic, like a groupie)
Nevertheless! Here she is reading Lincoln in the Bardo Page One:
On our wedding day I was forty-six, she was eighteen.
. . . .
I proposed that we should be . . . friends. Should behave outwardly, in all things, as if we had consummated our arrangement.
(Har Har Har)
Page Two:
She is here, still here.
(Har Har Har again!)
I was not an inexperienced man — had been wild when young; had spent sufficient time (I am ashamed to say) in Marble Alley . . .
(Har to the nth!)
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.
