I'm obsessed with the work of Nicholson Baker. I picked up a galley of Traveling Sprinkler, planning to write a blurb for his September 23rd event and be done with it, but instead I slipped and fell into his work, heading to The Anthologist, discovering an old copy of The Mezzanine, consuming The Everlasting Story of Nory, clutching House of Holes to my chest, surreptitiously ordering more while prowling the UBC for any more of his books. I can be accused of reading too much, swaths of my free time spent turning pages and collecting books. I love books, I love reading, but when I find a writing style that I just want to consume, devour, describe using language better suited for food--
I guess I could do a string of exclamation points in an attempt to explain my feeling of exuberance, but that's not how it feels. I've found an author I enjoy so I'm going to ride off into the sunset, his books in my arms.