I’m half way through “Whatever Happened to Interracial Love?” and already mesmerized by the mind and sui generis style of Kathleen Collins. “Interiors” in particular blew me away. Here’s an excerpt:

“I’m moody, damn it, and restless…and life has so many tuneless days…I can’t apologize for loving you so little. Only dreams carry the sweet logic I respect…dreams…and  a certain…insouciance…primevally inaccessible to your nature. You were born a son of a bitch, an asshole, a self-accommodating sentimentalist slowing down any old chariot in sight…for a ride. I love everything too little except the journey, the way the wheels turn…I’m just a passenger on the train of life…Of all the dreams I’ve satisfied, perhaps making money was the most…penetrating…”

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