Alison is somewhat more hesitant, not about the incipient child but about staying with Ben, whose hold on maturity is less sure than his grip on his favorite bong.
It's frightening to think that this is where writers end up: a good sentence; parallel structure; sure, concrete imagery; it's even kind of a joke. But punchiness has been sac'd for tightness, and no one under 35 would've banged out a sentence like that.
To dream of writing film reviews for the Times is akin to dreaming of marriage; we all kind of want it but we are justifiably afraid of the stylistic compromises we'll have to make. (Shit I'm already on my way.)
No comments:
Post a Comment