when it comes to bare skull and no beauty."So it would seem.
’s forays into fiction have been positively nail-biting.
The now-quaint rationale was, “Reporting consumes a lot of space.” But in fiscal year 2009, when book review sections shriveled and houses purged editors and authors alike, dreamy fabulists, note: the enthusiast who wallpapers his bathroom with covers, or the public radio supporter who accepts the free tote though clearly informed this has diminished her pledge. While bloggers Megan Mc Ardle and Ta-Nehisi Coates crank out high-concept cover pieces, P. O’Rourke and critic Mark Steyn, the golden mean of the magazine’s original libertarian readership, have been gently phased out.
The ’s Ken Auletta recently depicted that same future as a battle epic and brutal, the upstart i Pad flashing its pretty UI and 60,000 titles against a staid Kindle, its inkless jabs a pathetic defense.
I have finally decided to take the leap by talking about three novels by Haruki Murakami, the star of Japanese literature and three by Amélie Nothomb, the francophone writer who nowadays is probably closest to Japan.
Murakami and Nothomb have several elements in common.
Now, DNA researchers attempting to tell the true skull from the false by comparison with DNA samples taken from Schiller’s relatives, have discovered that neither is a match.
In one of Lucian of Samosata's second century Dialogues of the Dead, Diogenes tells Pollux that in death, "man and man are as like as two peas...