Take a photo of a barcode or cover
Well researched, infuriating look at every insidious way private equity has seeped in to American life.
If feels like there isn’t an institution private or public that is safe from being looted by corporate greed at this point. The author devoted the final portion of the book to policy change that might improve things.
If feels like there isn’t an institution private or public that is safe from being looted by corporate greed at this point. The author devoted the final portion of the book to policy change that might improve things.
This is beautifully written but definitely dragged in places.
What a weird, wildly imaginative book. I love the way it unfolded. In such a saturated genre, this post apocalyptic novel actually felt unique.
Pretty uneven for me, if I'm honest.
Loved this one though, which I am sadly living out as a middle aged person:
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue
or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
Loved this one though, which I am sadly living out as a middle aged person:
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue
or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
I enjoyed the chapters on the fashion industry. The lack of cited sources in the other chapters gave this a very messy, fast and loose feel that I found disconcerting.
A terrible, brief look at a spate of lynchings that occurred in Georgia in 1918. The cursive this book is written in verges on illegible. It detracted. The woodcuts were beautiful though.
Some really great recipes in here!