Friday, August 24, 2001


Sixteen years ago I made much of my living reviewing books. Haven't done it in a long time (although I've recently seen a few quotes from seventeen-year-old reviews surfacing with my byline, as if they're current blurbs, proving, i suppose, that they are not entirely forgotten), but was recently asked to review a book for a major newspaper, and agreed. I suppose I thought that book reviewing was like riding a bicycle or kissing -- something you never forget how to do, no matter how long you don't. In reality, I'm finding, it's more like speaking a foreign language or playing a musical instrument: if you don't do it for a long time, you lose it. Not completely, and it comes back to you after a bit. But that easy, unthinking facility is gone.

So now I just have to turn a bunch of sentences into an article.


In the meantime, hurrah for Chris Ware, nominated for the Guardian First Book award. Read,10486,541770,00.html