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This is one of those rare mornings where The New York Times' homepage isn't dominated by a picture of Obama or McCain. So I figured I might as well bring the election back into forefront...of this blog about books...oy. The real reason I'm posting this can be found after the poem.
I've spent the day researching the life of Michael Dorris: reading him, reading about him. And the dark, frantic moral of his story seems to be simply that some lives are unlivable. This is not a comforting thought.