![]() ![]() And so during a trip to Paris in spring, I picked up five books by Anaïs Nin and was for several weeks cast out in an unmoored realm of trenchant lust and forensic self-scrutiny as Nin’s novels charted her decadent quest to overthrow the boundaries of personality through a tantalizing series of choppy sexual encounters. I wanted to be moved, stirred, disturbed, shaken, perhaps even turned on a little. There are many different reading modes and naturally I frequently read as a writer so as to augment my sense of what is possible formally - I am fascinated by unorthodox structuring methods - but I am only a writer when I am writing and for much of this year I was not writing a great deal, and so I read with a deeper more personal hunger. I have been a terrible reader this year, demanding the impossible - I wanted to experience the same tumult and sting of feelings I encountered when I read classic books for the first time, around the age of 16. ![]()
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