The Yellow Book

Apparently there is more German priest chicanery. Perhaps it is all apocalytpic coincidence, perhaps it's the absinthe. Regardless, this novel was a clearance rack find at the old b&n that proved rather good. Jack, it seems is actually malaria, and was given that nomenclature during a particularly torrid series of outbreaks in 19th century New Orleans. This epidemic coincided with the arrival of the soliotype and the earliest expressions of photographic art. Analysis: we, the modern incarnation of such panolpy of extremism, are disease, gentlemen. You're all sick. Next up for reading; We Need to Talk About Kevin which must contain some secret clues about the Winter Me.