And I never liked bull terriers anyway.

I enjoyed this, though I’m not really ready to commit to saying anything else about it, except that this is exactly the sort of movie that you’d expect to end up with if you paired Jim Jarmusch and Bill Murray. Which, in a way, is disappointing.

I’m glad that I finally read this.

A great series of related essays about how the works of Joyce, Eliot, Pound, and Beckett were shaped by the technology of their day. Wonderful.

I read this in conjunction with its companion volume, Franz Kafka’s “The Castle.”

I first read this about a decade ago, and thought I’d give it another read. It hasn’t aged well.

Worth it mainly for Crumb’s art. Mairowitz’s text is primarily biographical, and though he deals with Kafka’s texts, he just doesn’t have the space to give them the attention they deserve, and the book suffers for it. He also seems to have an axe to grind against every other reader of Kafka besides himself, which is outright obnoxious. Again, Crumb’s art is delightful.

Noooooooo!

I never would’ve ventured into Desert Books, deep in the basement of the Guadalupe Street BankOne building, and I never would’ve bought this book - stirring sloganeering or no - if I had known that the proprietor would turn up years later to mercilessly grill my friend Chris during an interview for a software company. I’d like to return the Bakunin tract I didn’t steal from him, too.

A perfect book in every regard, with something for fans of such writers as Tolkien, Borges, Calvino, Bunyan, Rowling, Swift, Chesterton, Alexander, etc.