I finished Louise Erdrich's The Beet Queen last night. It was pretty frackin' fantastic:
What the breeze made do next was almost frightening. Something happened, I turned in a slow circle. I tossed my hands out and waved them. I swayed as if I heard music from below. Quicker, and then wilder, I lifted my feet. I began to tap them down, and then I was dancing on their graves.
And,
Ghostly, rank in their own sweat and travel dust, they saw me as a pure black flame. They could not resist me. I always knew that if I kept my eyes moving strictly down the page of print, if I paused in the darkest corners of the landscape, if I closed my eyes as if in communion with someone greater, they would come. The would force me to worship them like and animal. I would fall. I would burn and burn until by grace I was consumed.
This is Ich Bin Ein Oberliner, where we never dance on graves, but read a lot about it.
There really will be a new post up at Oberlin Blogs.
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