But I Plucked A New, Different, Worldly

Until I Read Anne Frank's Diary, I Had Found Books A Literal Escape From What Could Be The Harsh Reality Around Me. After I Read The Diary, I Had A Fresh Way Of Viewing The Both Literature And The World. From Then On, I Found I Was Impatient With Books That Were Not Honest Or That Were Trivial And Frivolous.

One Of The Things About Being Raised British In Africa Is That You Get This Double Whammy Of Toughness. The Continent In Place Itself Made You Quite Tough. And Then You've Got This British Mother Whose Entire Being Rejects 'coddling' In Case It Makes You Too Soft. So There's Absolutely Nothing Standing Between You And A Fairly Rough Experience.

People Who Disagree With His Excellency, The President For Life And 'chief Of Chiefs,' Are Frequently Found To Be The Victims Of Car Crashes (their Bodies Mysteriously Riddled With Bullets); Or Dead In Their Beds Of Heart Attacks (their Bodies Mysteriously Riddled With Bullets); Or The Recipients Of Some Not-quite-fresh Seafood (their Bodies Mysteriously Riddled With Bullets).

Fbi Girl Is A Gorgeous, Sumptuous Book. Conlon-mcivor Takes A Subject (herself And Her Family) That Might Have Sunk In Other Hands, Beats Egg White Under Her Words And The Whole Thing Rises Like A Dream. It's A Love Story For Her People And For A Time And Place. Read It.

You Can't Rewind War. It Spools On, And On, And On, Looping And Jumping, Distorted And Cracked With Age, And The Stories Contract Until Only The Nuggets Of Hatred Remain And No One Can Even Remember, Or Imagine, Why The War Was Organized In The First Place.