LETTERETTE

Writing about literature is said to be comparable with dancing about architecture. Plus, whatever I say will probably be vapid and all, but, for some reason, it doesn't discourage me this time. I've found a book reflecting my personal philosophy in both its form and content. Prior to that, the books I treasured would be very much either-or. But not this one. It is a perfect match, so rich and generous that you cannot read more than ten pages at a time. Therefore, it took me a month to finish it. The moment I closed this marvelous literary achievement I wished she who had composed it had been killed shortly after completing it so that I could stash the manuscript someplace and then appoint myself the sole author of it. Yes, I know how infantile it is. And foul. It's a theft and a murder conflated together, after all. But what wouldn't I give for literary renown.. I'm too lazy to write something myself though. Trying to get an idea into my little head that all the good books were already written, but it doesn't really work.