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My favorite part of Thursday's class was our list of metaphors we generated to do with the reader, the text and the writer. The one I connected to most was not my own, but the one comparing the text to an apartment, the reader to the person inside, and the writer to the architect. This fits both with my experience as a writer of constructing something-- something almost tangible-- and my experience  as a reader of being in a new place. I've always seen books as something there for you to (literally) explore, and I can certainly get so lost in them that I don't hear someone if they call my name.

I never got that deeply into Sorrows of an American, and I'm finding it very frustrating. The only characters i care about at all are Sonia and Eggy-- the adults I lose my patience with. Even by the end of the book, it seems to me that they haven't moved from where they were in the beginiing. In this way, it seems utterly unlike Leaves of Grass or the unconscious.  The poem might not have had a traditional structure, but it was always moving. The characters in the novel, on the other hand, seem stuck in isolation.