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One of the earliest full sentences I ever wrote (this is true, now), was: I think I'm in love with Mandrake.
Therein lies psychoanalysis fodder.
Is the Grossman at least well, ploddingly action-movie-esque? I mean, I realized long ago if I can reread 'Lord of the Trees' and its companion, I can pretty much read anything that has enough punching or bullets in it. Especially if there's a waiting room visit on the schedule.
I think I enjoy Eco's novels for reasons many don't, which is the pulp and pop stuff and the fact the symbolic items don't often reasonably connect, but force the reader's connections to generate meaning. Makes us create the frisson between ideas and items the text establishes. The stuff many fans of his want him to put away, and many critics use as proof of his unworthiness.
And really, anyone who makes a JLA reference two hundred plus pages into a book on monks, murder, and the mysteries back in ye days of olde, deserves some sort of special applause. Especially when it goes to film with Sean Connery. And doesn't suck. |
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