n-w by zadie smith

“How did he ever come to know this place? Unknowing it would just be the restoring of things to their natural, healthy state.” (121)

“so, you didn’t like it. is it her preoccupation with the power dynamics of interracial butt-fucking?”

a question that i’m going to pose to a friend of a friend who was vocal about his dislike of the latest offering by miss smith at a holiday gather late last year. now that i have read this one, i have some thoughts. parenthese i can’t say that i’m not liking the added soundtrack of public places in my life-at the parkdale library so far i’ve heard a raucous group of toddler singing old macdonald at the top of their lungs, and an uncomfortable phone loan/deal set-up interrupted by security and an older gentleman of questionable mental soundness erupt over the sign-on status of these contested computers. anyways-i’m kind of obsessed with form these days, and i always enjoy when writers take risks. i’m not sure if it’s because i don’t actually remember white teeth that i’m approaching this without strong feelings, but maybe it’s because i know what she’s said herself about white teeth. it could be the same pondering that i have around roman’s revenge.

“An indescribable accent. Like he was born on a yacht somewhere in the Caribbean and raised by Ralph Lauren.” (179)

i don’t know what nicki’s doing, but i feel like she’s doing something. it might be that we don’t have a lot of moves, as humans, as evidenced by our lack of real movement in any which direction, but perhaps that’s the mystery-there is no mystery. let’s face it-there’s only room for so many of us to sing at the innauguration. there will always be more of us on the outside of the spotlight than in. case in point, i’m returning to this blog post in a different library (brentwood) after sitting in on a lecture at ocad about landscapes and people were arguing about the high art/low art qualities of fire and brimstone landscape paintings, so-i’m sayin’. once again, i’m condensing a lot of complicating points simply and for my own purposes but hey-it’s my blog.

“It occured to Natalie Blake that she was not very happily married. Goofy. Made lame jokes, offended people. He was in a constant good humour, yet he was stubborn. He did not read or have any real cultural interests, aside from old, nostalgic affection for Nineties hip hop. The idea of the Caribbean bored him.” (220)

and so i’m to check out the new jose james because it’s the second coming of voodoo (thanks, del) in the same way that i feel like i’m the exact target demographic for black radio. parenthese why has stokley so slept on as a vocalist? and how does me’shell’s voice make me melt every single time? i could just listen to that roll call track forever (ever). it’s always exciting to talk with an older head that falls in love with a new hip hop record in that obsessive-compulsive way so i might just go buy kendrick‘s record. i don’t know if i mentioned it, but 2012’s verse for me was 3000‘s on “sorry” (too bad one must suffer through T.I. to hear it) and it was the last thing i appreciated from my invisible husband (supplier of that verse for the last two years in a row now) before my computer died.

“absence makes the face grow fonder, the heart actually roams/fickle and brittle it actually knows/no discipline-it just wants what it fucking wants/forgetting lessons learned in lives past as well as it’s own/ biological restrictions/dragging around the legacy of a broken martyr when it’s really/a mere muscle”

“heart heart heart heart beat beat beat beat……………”


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