The Street of Crocodiles By Bruno Schulz

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from what i can tell from the intro–though i might be reading this wrong–it’s a collection of love letters. by that: a collection of stories sent to a beloved. with that in mind, there something a little circumscribed about where the stories will go, as if it doesn’t want to reveal too much darkness or allow for bitter feelings–for why advertise *that* to a potential lover?

different from what i expected, which i guess was some kind of collection of kafkaesque stories. instead a very concentrated poetic language. a portrait of a father as dreamer and house-prisoner. nothing happens, more so than kafka, and the proust comparison on the cover is maybe more apt. the description of seasons and his varieties of sunlight are very beautiful.

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