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When Ellie looks in the mirror, she sees only skin. Hers is dry, but also oily.
Emerging from the subway into the miasma of workers, men striding superbly in their splendid suits streaming currents of thick-headedness. . .
As for yes I’ve been against it since ballet & I refused to leap like a little white flag
It arouses my nostalgia for a past that never existed; one that might have broadened our perspective on where we are in the cosmos.
It is as if Slimani worries the reader’s sympathies might accidentally lie with the murderous nanny.
William T. Vollmann on the fate of the Earth. It's not pretty.