Notes to Shelves
In a cold library – its silence occasionally disturbed by a lone cough or a floorboard creak – you turn over the last page of your book, only to be faced with an argument in the margins. According to one reader, the book is “shitty Marxist bollocks”, to which another has retorted “fuck you
Lost in the Library of Babel
Recently, before bed, I’ve developed a new habit, one that I’m not sure I can explain.
