always, in days of hibernation, or in the first moments of vacation, i hide under the covers and devour books. it doesn't matter if they're old or new; although often i have a stack of new books under the bed just waiting to be read. the linens however must be freshly laundered and ironed so they're still warm when i dive back into them, and a pot of tea just within reach. the last few days have been devoted to banana yoshimoto, who writes so cleanly and crisply that it's possible to believe the impossible. i just finished rereading four of her books: kitchen, lizard, np, and amrita.
an excerpt from amrita: "dawn was breaking as we said good-bye. i saw her off by watching her small body disappear into the background, her high heels clapping along, echoing in the early morning city. my drunkenness, the sunrise, the bright sky, and a friend who was leaving. if i had died in my fall i would have missed that morning - that splendid sunrise over Tokyo. "
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