The past few days have found me shnozz-deep in what I am already concluding to be an amazing book.
Saul Bellow's Herzog.
Published in 1964. I was a few months old then.
You know, you "discover" an author like this, and you just have to wonder where you've been in the interim.
You realize, the world's been spinning.
Clocks have been ticking.
Calendar pages have been flipping, torn aside, replaced entirely, every January.
Niagara Falls has been... falling.
Wallpaper's been peeling.
And I have not read this man, until now?
What the HELLOW is wrong with me?
SAUL BELLOW IS AMAZING!