We prefer the CliffsNotes to the book, and all the better if there's a movie version. We talk around the obvious truths of our reality so doggedly that avoidance of and aversion to truth become the drivers of discourse.
Percival Everett's novel Erasure is that sort of work for me: perpetually current in its insights, depressingly applicable across the years. It's jarring, discomforting, dynamic, and irreverent. Most impressive of all, it bears the mark of legitimate art: It takes the risk of honesty and emerges from the painful process of self-sorting.
[
add
]
[
|
|
...
]