The scar on his lip was less of a star and more of a wishbone or, more accurately, a horseshoe. Stars, horseshoes, wishbones. His scar was nothing but lucky symbols. Using the tube of antibiotic ointment, which would soon need to be expensively refilled, he dabbed the medicine on his cuts, which took some time and effort. When he was finished, Buster smiled at his reflection and saw that this made things worse. He returned to his seat, the aisles around him completely empty, everyone on the bus giving him a three-seat buffer in all directions. This was a kind of life he understood, a three-seat buffer whether he wanted it or not, time to think, whether he wanted it or not, traveling down the highway to someplace new, whether he wanted to or not.
I was reading both this and Great Expectations, but the due date on T.F.F is coming quickly upon me, so I have to make it my one and only book for the time being. I'm enjoying it very much! Wes Anderson keeps coming up in reviews, but I don't think that's quite fair to either of them. More on this when I finish. It's a strange and funny book.
Read the Goodreads blurb--intriguing. What sort of art does the Family Fang indulge in?
ReplyDeletePerformance art, of course.
ReplyDelete