Sixteen-year-olds make bad decisions and some new, fast ones
A new essay, about making bad decisions as a sixteen-year-old, over at The Nervous Breakdown. It involves me and gasoline fumes.
Two books that I’ve enjoyed a ton lately. Read Bill Roorbach’s The Remedy for Love over the course of two nights, and I’m generally not that kind of a reader. But the premise is so simple and compelling: an oddball couple forced to spend a few days in a increasingly dangerous situation in the Maine woods must learn to trust each other, and like each other. That sounds really corny, how I just wrote that, but it’s entertaining, and good, and not corny at all. A great love story and a great example of throwing characters into very cold water and then seeing how they get out of it.
And now am reading Laura van den Berg’s Find Me, which is a dystopian sort of adventure story about a 20-year-old orphan who’s immune to a deadly forgetting epidemic but who is also lost and must find her way out of both an intensely lonely hospital but out of her own sadness. Beautiful writing. I read her first story collection, and it’s got all of that density in this longer form, in this longer story. Both books are the kinds of stories I wish I could write.