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MarkBeyerWrites

MarkBeyerWrites

Joined March 2023

hey, write me!
review
MarkBeyerWrites
Fortress of Solitude | Jonathan Lethem
Pickpick

This story is not about “the losers” – although plenty of them have secondary parts, and lots of walk-ons. We know those types. They fade into the background. Likely as well to bitch about how they‘d never been given a chance. Losers.

Dylan Ebdus understands life differently. He‘s tattooed with the knowledge that one needs to learn something in order to make a life.

Mark Beyer
Max, the blind guy

review
MarkBeyerWrites
Mehso-so

The Quick and Pithy of MY READING MIND
This is a fast little story, and more like a game of 52-pickup. It‘s no wonder people in the 1960s liked to read this story while high. Actually, perhaps this is the only way an adult can live-ily see the sense of this beautiful dream (kids get it instinctively; their sense of wonder hasn‘t yet been weighed down by society).

-- Mark Beyer
author of “Max, the blind guy” and three other novels

review
MarkBeyerWrites
Pickpick

Bellow‘s oeuvre has been a show of simmering rage just below a character‘s surface. Perhaps a “personal recognition” of his own self? If not, then the observation of people in that world called America in the 1950s, ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s … er, was there not a time when people weren‘t furious at something or someone or some group?

Mark Beyer
author of “Max, the blind guy” and three other novels
Read samples on Amazon: https://rb.gy/poyrsd

review
MarkBeyerWrites
Saturday | Ian McEwan
Pickpick

The Quick and Pithy of MY READING MIND…
If you‘d ever thought to “record” an entire day, there would be a surprise over how much you thought about.

Mark Beyer
author of What Beauty and Max, the blind guy, and The Janitor: Or, Dostoevsky in America. To sample and buy: https://rb.gy/poyrsd
#ReadersWanted #GoodRead #bookworm #booklover #ianmcewan #Saturday #bookclubs #library #booktofilm

quote
MarkBeyerWrites
What Beauty | Mark Beyer
post image

Seeming to be a bag lady and being a bag lady are not the same. Go look at a bag lady and this becomes axiomatic: there‘s a sour, rancid odor ten feet around her — the stench of a sort that takes weeks to ferment; hair like matted sackcloth; watery eyes, blurred and vaguely unfocused, or else glaucomatous; pants crotch stained by piss, soaked and dried a dozen times (the root source of the reek?).

Yet here she is, in disguise.