What are we allowed to do when we’re looking for things we’re required to do?

Modern culture contains curious proportionalities and unexpected corrolations. The incidence of reading Dave Eggers novels is directly proportional to the wordiness and/or purgative, soliloquative nature of one’s blogging. Also related, listening to Morrissey’s Bona Drag is directly proportional to the once-impossible desire to actually return to the likes of Sheerness-on-sea. Who could have imagined such a thing?

Eggers’ self-confessional, inner-monologue style really threw me when reading A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius – it’s autobiographical, right? Or is it? I think some sort of bizarre mixture of fact and fiction, carefully treading a line between wistful, genuine beauty and family-alienating, ugly truth. You Shall Know Our Velocity is entirely fictional, but the protagonist’s internal wranglings have a real ring of authenticity about them, in the same way as, say, Nick Hornby’s oft-lovelorn, mostly scarily recognisable prose.

It lends itself well to blogging, this gushing, pouring, near stream-of-consciousness approach.

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