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Oh Dear

I first read an article by Jia Tolentino in the New Yorker. It was about a novel I had recently read for a book club - one that put a kink in my neck and had me walking around for about a week with a face full of dog-like stupor.  Reading Tolentino's summary and review of the book made me salivate in words. Two sickly talented writers, merged. Her appeal began to rise from that moment forward and I became obsessive about reading everything she authored. Part of her allure is that she takes something very relatable, likely that both you and I have experienced, and contorts it in such a way that it becomes nearly impossible to look back to your own non-critiqued, virgin view of the thing. She has a way of taking what you think is good and finding the immoral basis upon which it was built -- transparency born out of introspection. Some may find this sort of realism and analytical inquisition a bit depressing, but I find it stimulating. It brings to mind the song, "This is

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