Mosquito by Gayl Jones

I think it's most appropriate to say I fall in love with this novel, because I (figuratively, at least) fall into this novel and it kind of flows around me. She talks so much about books, the kind of book you can open at any place and start reading...it is of course, that kind of book.

It's also filled with confabulatory newsletters, plays,dreams, and true lies.

Last night i had a moment, like running deeper into scheherazade's maze: each story starts on a premise from the previous one, and as i rushed deeper and deeper into the stories within stories, i worried i would never find my way out.

it's a book where you think, i'm gonna fold down this page because it's so incredibly smart, and then eventually you have to stop folding down pages because more pages are folded than not folded.

and i was thinking, i'll put an excerpt on the blog, but i won't because i wouldn't know when to stop excerpting.

i love this book like i love Gardens in the Dunes. I want to claim it for Chicana literature, but not in a colonizing way. LIke maybe instead I should follow the Daughters of Nzingha (a [possibly] confabulatory group in the novel) and call it "literature of Turtle Island people and their mixed cousins"

okay, let me stop trying to be like the character Mosquito aka Nadine Jane Sojourner Johnson aka Journal aka nicodemous, and go back to reading about her