Asserted by Reviewer Tim Rutten in today’s LA Times: Philip Roth is (apparently) our greatest living novelist.
Why don’t I know this? Sigh.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Blog Archive
-
▼
2008
(41)
-
▼
September
(38)
- Being Afraid
- A Blessing
- Virtual Virtue
- Maybe I'm learning why the sea on the tide
- Poetry, Then
- What to Do? What to Do? What to Do?
- Nibbling Olives with God
- Yoga at the Edge of the World
- Free Lunch
- Celebrate Light
- Exhausted
- Away From Body
- The Stuff I Don’t Know Would Fill a Book
- Rashomon Effect
- Right This Moment
- Hiking
- Skating
- Thank You
- Broken Beer Bottles
- My Favorite Verse
- I Pull Back the Curtains, Let the Sun Burn into My...
- The Force that Through the Green Fuse Drives the F...
- Worth Every Penny (14,500)
- Breakfast At Tiffany's
- Spin Can Be Good
- I Must Be Doing Something Right as a Mother
- A Prayer
- Is there an X in Here?
- Work
- Longing
- In Remembrance
- The Truth is I Wanted It
- Tourists
- Poetry, Religion, Poetry
- Finding My Voice
- Local Shopping
- Fasting for Ramadan
- Lost in Thought
-
▼
September
(38)
No comments:
Post a Comment