Téa Obreht Is The Most Thrilling Literary

Memory Has A Heavy Backspin, Yet It’s Still Impossible To Land Exactly Where We Took Off.

Corrigan Told Me Once That Christ Was Quite Easy To Understand. He Went Where He Was Supposed To Go. He Stayed Where He Was Needed. He Took Little Or Nothing Along, A Pair Of Sandals, A Bit Of A Shirt, A Few Odds And Ends To Stave Off The Loneliness. He Never Rejected The World. If He Had Rejected It, He Would Have Been Rejecting Mystery. And If He Rejected Mystery, He Would Have Been Rejecting Faith.

What Corrigan Wanted Was A Fully Believable God, One You Could Find In The Grime Of The Everyday... He Consoled Himself With The Fact That, In The Real World, When He Looked Closely Into The Darkness He Might Find The Presence Of A Light, Damaged And Bruised, But A Little Light All The Same. He Wanted, Quite Simply, For The World To Be A Better Place, And He Was In The Habit Of Hoping For It.

The War Was About Vanity, He Said. It Was About Old Men Who Couldn't Look In The Mirror Anymore And So They Sent The Young Out To Die. Was Was A Get-together Of The Vain. They Wanted It Simple--hate Your Enemy, Know Nothing Of Him.

The Repeated Lies Become History, But They Don't Necessarily Become The Truth.