冰猫侦探社

Love's Work by Gillian Rose My rating: 4 of 5 stars I have mixed feelings about Rose’s Love’s Work , upon which I cogitated in a knot of frown but could not unlock my brow—a hard, seedless nut; a water-scented perfume; a come-hither from the mirror—such unavailing tantilisation that when I finally cracked the charade, the answser is charade . This semi-biography semi-treatise is overwritten, like a warning sign turned to a litany. The language can be overbearing and pretentiously abstruse—she tried too hard to hide a plain truth, amping up the expectation and toning down the fun of it. The book is a loosely-structured, thinly-sheafed dichotomy of personal life and philosophical musings. I use the word dichotomy advisedly yet under a dramatic light, as her reflection on life and death and love (which I find too broad and ancient a theme for this puny memoir to master) is indeed periodically spliced by framments of past life; however, the link bet...

This year I want your love and not my love back. Bounties taste sweeter when given without view of return; grants are loudlier lauded when received upon no merit. It is time to be touched, affected, and not discomfited by it. I know at any rate, be it that I hate myself beyond desert or that everything I touch tumbles beyond credit, this trial must be tried, this weight must be borne, this tax must be wiped, and this life must pass itself by, glorious or bland.