Margaritas on a secluded Mexican beach. I blow through Ishiguro’s The Buried Giant in a sitting or two. I’d grabbed it, albeit tentatively, at the airport, knowing that I admire Ishiguro but don’t like fantasy. Ultimately, what was going on beneath the surface of Arthurian dragons and ogres, was too easily recognizable. If you are going … Continue reading On Reading Harrison after Ishiguro
On Reading Harrison after Ishiguro
