I started reading a little of Nicholson Baker's "The Everlasting Story of Nory". It is so far very much like eating tiny and improbably delicious candies whilst being given a terrific huge hug. Actually, if I try to use words to convey its squealing, delightful preciousness, I will only meet with blunt failure. It is a sort of paradox, being as it is a thing made out of words. I suggest you just read it instead anyhow.
I picked it up since I remembered reading Baker's "The Mezzanine" a long time ago, I think because