Around Here

I came across the name of an author I had jotted down, an author that was mentioned in a blog I sometimes read. I had finally gotten around to picking up one of her books at the library. I love my library. A book can be reserved online if it exists anywhere in the county system; a few days later, a phone call informed me that the book was ready for pick-up. Kindle me that . The author writes short stories that are deeply admired by her following, including the blog author who had mentioned her name, and who has adopted her style.  Within a few pages, I developed a prejudice against her querulous self-absorption. By the third story I was too annoyed to continue. The prevailing mood of her writing is an archly deadpan but condescending bewilderment occasioned by a vivid scrutiny of the ordinary and of those around her, of moderately affluent circumstances that are simultaneously celebrated by the attention accorded them, and disdained. It’s full of name brands, crunchy idiomatic phra...