That was no country for ex-kids:
About growing up too fast as a first-year teacher, and about Busch Gardens as a serene, well-manicured rampage over a pure swampland environment, causing the death of innocence in the new world. I guess? For a book about teaching, there is next to nothing about teaching in the opening.
For the Yeats reference, of course, but more for Cormac McCarthy. Actually prefer Blood Meridian, and the reference has nothing to do with the book No Country for Old Men. It actually has to do with my mom’s mom. She worked with Cormac McCarthy’s mother in the federal government, and they related to one another as chatty, hardwired Irish Catholic mothers. Nana, who reads a ton, has never read anything by McCarthy but used to tell all these stories about his mother praying for her eccentric writer son and his ballerina wife (probably referring to his second wife, British dancer Annie DeLisle) to move closer to home and act more mainstream. When I heard in college that McCarthy was a recluse, I honestly had no idea that Nana’s friend meant the same guy, then made the connection years later, well after the Royal Tenenbaums joke. I liked the idea of bringing the high violent drama of McCarthy to something as stupid as suffering a heat wave at an amusement park. It plays back to Noreen’s, and my, melodramatic reliance on using merciless Catholic suffering as an operating framework for every story.
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