Téa Obreht Is The Most Thrilling Literary

Part Of The Beauty Of Fiction Is That We Come Alive In A Body That We Don't Own.

Where Happiness Was Not A Possibility, The Illusion Of It Was Always More Important.

I Know Already That I Will Return To This Day Whenever I Want To. I Can Bid It Alive. Preserve It. There Is A Still Point Where The Present, The Now, Winds Around Itself, And Nothing Is Tangled. The River Is Not Where It Begins Or Ends, But Right In The Middle Point, Anchored By What Has Happened And What Is To Arrive.

The Tunnels Of Our Lives Connect, Coming To Daylight At The Oddest Moments, And Then Plunge Us Into The Dark Again. We Return To The Lives Of Those Who Have Gone Before Us, A Perplexing Möbius Strip Until We Come Home, Eventually, To Ourselves.

Good Days, They Come Around The Oddest Corners.