books have saved me i've always thought. but do they also fuck me up? how do you find the right book? it's not just reading trashy romance or mystery. i remember reading never cry wolf, the other side of the mountain, robinson crusoe, i heard the owl call my name. a book would lead me into the wilderness. last night i read the latest krasznahorkai and then i got tired and read girls by edna obrien and shit that one is grim story and heartbreaking as it's real and it happened and you know it's happening still. eimer mcbride loved it. whoo,hard to love such human cruelty, even if it's just a book. so back to krasznahorkai, which is like all k. about the human apocalyptic but with humor. did i tell you about rose's sister who hung herself to get out of a traumatic marriage? the family said she read too many russian novels. 
i read a few too, but i wasn't in a fixed marriage. i read war and peace in 3 days on a little island in the san juan de fuca straits. it felt good to leave that thick bound russian existential place. like america, but i had a two week visa. i had to go back to the war. there was no peace for me on the island anyway. the ferns and the moss and trees were beautiful and big and i was so tiny.