It has been a long time since the written word has taken my breath away with its beauty. Visual art does it to me all the time. I could have spent two hours staring breathlessly at Rodin's Eve at the AGO last week. It was this marble statue of Eve that moved me. It's hard to explain what it is about Rodin's sculptures that leave me wanting but it's there. Robert A. Heinlein does a pretty good job of discribing the impact of Rodin in Stanger in a Strange Land but it still doesn't explain it. I'm sorry. I'm digressing.

Lolita. Vladmir Nabokov's Lolita is currently taking my lungs and squeezing them till I have to put the book down because I can't breathe. Please realize that I am not exagerrating. I have had to put the book down because I can't breathe. Don't think that my lungs are week, either, because they're not. I've been training my lungs since I was nine to be able to take in as much air as in physically possible in as short a time frame as possible and, with this book, I can't breathe. I have this nasty habit of throwing books that I like too much because I can't stand my own need for them. Last night alone, I felt the urge to throw this book at least 7 times in an hour. I don't know why I'm tellin you this. Perhaps, I want you to read the book. The subject matter is controversial, but Nabokov prose makes me weak. I think it's from the lack of air.