I'm talking about flexing my infant fingers with the memory of arthritis in my grandmother's hands. I'm talking about reading before teething. I'm talking about taking my first clumsy steps toward an electric bill I already know is due next Thursday.
I am a lover of long sentences, of sentences that wind their way through various clauses and complements...
Was this what you heard, Edvard Munch, / in that moment / when vision shrieked like a mad sunflower
[T]he momentum and unity of the series arise not from Corwin's shifting outward goals—grand gestures that progress from escaping a sanitarium to claiming a throne and repairing the Pattern that is the basis for all reality—but from the continuity of Corwin's metaphoric quest for identity.
