I have been reading The Wake quietly aloud to myself on my porch near a wood half the world away from it's origin, and strangely, I hear the birds more as I make sense of this new language, the winds more, the trees bending - and I wonder if they are all leaning in, as I am, to enjoy the immense thrill that is this book. I hesitate to finish it, but somehow I doubt this book will end. I think it is alive, which is much too rare a quality.

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April 28, 2014 23:41