The other thing I read yesterday was the novel Andy Catlett : Early Travels, by Wendell Berry. It is the story of an old man remembering a trip he took to visit his grand-parents as a nine year old boy in rural Kentucky. Nothing much happens, at least in the conventional sense. There is very little dialogue, less action, and I am certain there is no bidding war underway for the movie rights. (Mind you, I would have thought the same thing about Blindness and Fugitive Pieces, two of my favourite books, both of which have been adapted as movies to be released shortly, and neither of which I will go to see.)
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