The photographer sends it to a friend and former lover, a writer who, traumatized by the image of the girl, soon refuses to get out of bed. Dynasties of quarrymen came and went, passing down skills from father to son, extending the maze. The main chamber has a stone table thick with white candle wax. Donald and Mickey Mouse became champions of the counter-revolution.
Linda had led a nomadic existence ever since she had abandoned her sleeping thirteen-year-old daughter, in 1999, leaving a note saying that she was going to meet the governor. Would it take very long? Doctor De Soto is at a disadvantage in a society designed for bigger animals, and this is a canny narrative choice. In many versions, she is a luminous beauty and has as a companion a pure-white rabbit. I noticed how thin he was, bonier than I had ever thought his dense frame could be. In drafts five through seventeen of this essay, I was mostly concerned with them: with the experience of opening a book and finding yourself in its pages, and with comprehending the precise nature of that violation. The right kind of therapy early on, perhaps—someone to help him talk through his experiences and come to terms with them.
Art and sex are both morally fraught activities for Yuknavitch. In commercials, the devices are perched on the heads of African-American athletes, such as Colin Kaepernick and Richard Sherman. Masten Space Systems has sixteen employees. That theme, of pettiness triumphing over even matters as consequential as the life of another man, reappears often in the book. The other constant is the reliably happy ending. The floor is covered in small spill-heaps of gray powder: the spent waste from carbide lamps.
These stories are written not necessarily for children under duress but, instead, by adults who are themselves in duress, and who now prefer to devote their time to making children happy. When they decided to travel back to Europe for a belated honeymoon, the marmoset monkeys came with them. There were none of the vacuum chambers and clean white rooms that one associates with rocket science. The pack is jerking around, trying to get free; she must be hauling at it with her leg, but it looks as if it could loosen the block at any moment and bring the ceiling down.
A subterranean town-planning system was established whereby chambers and tunnels were named in relation to the streets above them, thus creating a mirror city, with the ground serving as the line of symmetry. The dear friends have only a moment together before they part, presumably forever. The country that invented Donald Duck is the last to discover his cynicism—and what arrant cynicism it is. I asked if he needed any camping gear—a tent, a tarp, a sleeping bag.
Once we pass a stretch of tunnel wall on which I see hand stencils that have been made with spray cans in acid green, ice blue, nuclear yellow, punk echoes of prehistoric cave art. The story has many versions. Some of the most surprising material in the book concerns recovery groups for men who have abused women. And they must have also arrived with a tremendous sense of their extraordinary good fortune, their ultimate safety.
After her first arrest, Linda threw a cup of urine at a corrections officer and struck a man with a broomstick. And, in the beginning of the second book, he escapes—and never returns to—the zoo. She is passionate about the catacombs, especially about preserving and documenting their swiftly changing features through photography and record-keeping. Wang prefers to use her own experience as a point of departure for philosophical inquiry.
There are slender highways running almost the length of the tiled map, from southwest to northeast. When staff went looking for him, they found that he had locked himself in a bathroom. Wolf got his start in the late seventies as a rock songwriter before finding success as a pop and R. When I read this as an adult, the cruel comments he makes about his child were so upsetting that—I am embarrassed to admit this—I looked into it, in what we collectively agree is reality, and was relieved to discover that Goldman never had a son at all.