i have officially finished nabokov's lolita. what a marvelous, marvelous book. i could hardly put the composition down, and thus i have consumed its contents within a span of three mere days. although it broods with a sickened, twisted, neuroticism, i found it to be curiously humorous in its clever wordplay, the way it contrasted european urbanity with the simplistic american frontier, and the wildest cases of dramatic irony. i loved the subtly woven metanarrative. this goes into my personal annals of favorites. my sin, my soul, lolita. lo. lee. ta.

last weekend i ate up a clockwork orange by anthony burgess. the language! that beautiful nadsat tongue-twisting, o my brothers, that seeped slowly into my consciousness and rendered the story to horrific effect. if you were wondering, yes, of course, i took in the british version with its unadulterated size of twenty-one chapters. how that last one counted, alex. you were cured all right.