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NOTE
I love encountering things I don’t understand. I’ve read so many books that I really enjoy something that surprises me. Unease at a plot no resolving cleanly, doesn’t bother me.
It really should be acceptable and normal to say “I don’t entirely understand what I just read, but I loved it.”
In recent years, I feel like it has been less common to find books to challenge me, and by me I mean their readers, and by “books” what I really mean is “publishing,” which can feel very focused on the sure thing, the brand name, the splashy debut that somehow speaks to millions and millions of people. Still, there are challenging, mystifying, weird-ass books being published all the time.
Maybe, just maybe, this requirement that we all pretend to know what we’re talking about at all times is a limiting thing.
Joy in realizing, several chapters into a book, that you could not possibly say what it was “about” until reading to the end, and maybe not even then