"The heart of another is a dark forest, always, no matter how close it has been to one's own." ---The Professor's House, by Willa Cather
"This is what a boy detective does: He is always counting, estimating, recording. He cannot stop himself and simply let one moment move into the next. His is a life of connections, patterns, histories, motivations. In the world of the boy detective, as in our world, there is a reason for everything. Without a reason, without a plan, without a precise count of steps to the closest escape route, there is nothing." --The Boy Detective Fails, by Joe Meno.
"I know, answering phones seems like a dreary job for someone of my intellect and education, but it was, in a way, perfectly suited to my disposition. The right words are always in my head; it's just a matter of spitting them out. That's my main problem. When I'm talking on the phone, I'm usually more relaxed, and, thus, more articulate. But when I'm face-to-face with someone (especially a stranger) I end up sounding like some mumbling, glazed-over panhandler. Sometimes I feel like there's a sign floating above my head that says something like 'warning: avoid contact with this person.' I was told once that I look 'naturally stand-offish,' which I could not understand." "Hawaiian Getaway" by Adrian Tomine
And though it does veer wildly from incredibly depressing into outright farce, I'd like to give credit to Meno's book for having the best title ever. It's even better on the library's abbreviated hardcover: "Boy Detective Fails." How could you not read that?
Later Days.
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