There was a time when I’d write a review of pretty much any book I read, almost especially if I didn’t have anything interesting to say about it. The impulse, sublimated over my 20s, was to share the (not very wide) world of ideas that existed in both the “Turns Out” nonfiction world and in the cellars of the genre fiction I voraciously consumed. Trying a little harder, I’ve been listening to more material via audio on my interminable car commute.
Some unsolicited advice
Don’t listen to Christopher Hitchens while driving. I have so many mangled notes from his collection of essays, Arguably*, that I quite unsafely made on the road via exasperated Siri reminders, they all seem like so many doubles-down on the Blackjack table of road safety.
Something about a quote, right?
During an enlightening story of his travels in Algeria, he spoke of a woman there:
She was one those widows whose majesty make their husbands especially dead.
I’m glad that somebody this entertaining was also enlightening with his wide breadth of writing.
* The man hung on this word like the Koala-eucalyptus duo.