I Mean, When You're Tired Of Book

Supposedly I've Got Traces Of An English Accent, Though I Can't Hear It. I Must Have Inherited It From My Mother, Who's English, And Then I Think It Was Exacerbated By The Fact That I Live With An Australian.

I Read Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, Which I Think Will Subsequently Be Recognized As One Of The First Great Novels Of The 21st Century.

His Crush Went From Exciting To Depressing, As If He'd Gone From The First Blush Of Infatuation To The Terminal Nostalgia Of A Former Lover Without Even The Temporary Relief Of An Actual Relationship In Between.

I Always Hated Those Fantasy Books Where, At The End, All The Kids Had To Go Home. At The End Of A Narnia Book, You Always Got Shown The Door. Same With The Wizard Of Oz And The Phantom Tollbooth. You Get Kicked Out Of Your Magic Land. It's Like, "by The Way, Here's Your Next Surprise: You Get To Go Home!" And The Kids Are All Like, "yay, We Get To Go Home!" I Never Bought That. Did Anybody Buy That?

She Still Had Her Bad Days, No Question, When The Black Dog Of Depression Sniffed Her Out And Settled Its Crushing Weight On Her Chest And Breathed Its Pungent Dog Breath In Her Face. On Those Days She Called In Sick To The It Shop Where, Most Days, She Untangled Tangled Networks For A Song. On Those Days She Pulled Down The Shades And Ran Dark For Twelve Or Twenty-four Or Seventy-two Hours, However Long It Took For The Black Dog To Go On Home To Its Dark Master.