Philip K. Dick is deeply weird, but the Ace Double packaging (the other side is Leigh Brackett’s The Big Jump) lulled me into expecting something more like traditional fifties-sixties-seventies genre writing: weird, but not super duper wacky, Philip K. Dick weird. Continue reading
A sort of history of mostly twentieth century American philosophy (Carlin threatens to talk about Emerson, but doesn’t; he also writes briefly about the mostly nineteenth century Peirce and James in the context of Peirce, but those two reached into the next century; he also finds space for this millennium and even for Obama). Continue reading
… was such a disappointment.
It was a downer. Little of the breathless, beach read voyeurism of the first two. The most grounded characters were either sidelined or given depressing subplots (custody hearings); everyone seemed poorly sketched; the ending felt tacked and like a poor attempt at a veneer of realism painted onto a romance novel. Continue reading
What began as an admirable effort to show the wide ranging influence of an eighteenth century London club whose members included Samuel Johnson, James Boswell, David Garrick, Edmund Burke, Adam Smith, Joshua Reynolds, and Edward Gibbon rapidly devolved into an unsatisfying biography of Boswell and Johnson. Continue reading
Apparently, and I didn’t know this before, no one really explored the Mekong River until intrepid white folks arrived. Sure, many of them were racist, cruel, and exploitative, but we should admire them for… reasons? Continue reading