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the stacks—those narrow channels crammed with possibility.
“Amazon is the devil,” Harriet informed not only Baker but whoever might be listening. She slid her credit card across the counter. “The Nazis worked with more subtlety.”
to feel pity in a pitiless place is no small thing.
Was this the fate of adults on the threshold of their dotage? To be turned into children by children?
the future—theirs; hers—felt shadowy, and immense, and beyond discussion.
It had taken most of their twenty years to expand the palate of her meat-and-potatoes man.
People chose wrong paths all the time and turned out all right.
“These birds
say what they mean, and mean what they say; a skill with which human animals struggle profoundly.”
“You have beautiful eyes. Believe them.”
“The problem with retrospect is it never shows up beforehand.”
How could she let her poem breathe on the Outs while the women’s poems remained trapped inside with their authors?
It’s always the girls who get killed the worst, always the girls’ bodies you see half-dressed and sticky with blood except for their boobs, which remain shapely and untouched, and you’re supposed to laugh, Troy always said you’re supposed to laugh, because the girl asked for it, she opened the door or lifted the veil or peeled back the shower curtain, and what did she expect,
Reading one book makes it part of all the books you’ve ever read,
