I'm a DIY kinda guy.

Homesteading is gone.

You have to find hope. Hope is such a shape shifter. You tend to look in the rearview mirror for hope, but when it's gone, you have to look forward. You have to get in the van and keep driving on.

And furthermore, it’s my opinion that those who claim their accomplishments al to themselves, those who are the heroes of their own stories, are liars”.

Limited points of view let the writer dispense – and the reader gather – information from various corners of the story. It all becomes a kind of dance, with the writer guiding the reader through the various twists and turns. The challenge is keeping readers in step, while still managing to surprise.

And I touched her with the strongest, most delicate touch in the world – like the thumb of God running down the spine of a baby bird.

But you can see it, Harriet, a look in his eyes, an alertness, as if somewhere behind the disease, behind the scar tissue, behind the fog of disassociation, Bernard is all there, he’s just lost his ability to communicate. Like somebody turned off his volume. You’re certain he can see everything that is transpiring with crystal clarity, and he can’t do a goddamn thing about it.

If we’ve learned one thing digging up all these old bones, dusting them off, and holding them to the light, we’ve learned this: While the days unfold, one after the other, and the numbers all move in one direction, our lives are not linear, Harriet. We are the sum of moments and reflections, actions and decisions, triumphs, failures, and yearnings, all of it held together, inexplicably, miraculously, really, by memory and association.

Fobbit is fast, razor sharp, and seven kinds of hilarious. Thank you, Mr. Abrams, for the much needed salve – it feels good to finally laugh about Iraq. Fobbit deserves a place alongside Slaughterhouse Five and Catch-22 as one of our great comic novels about the absurdity of war.

It’s a cruel process, aging. Take my advice, dear, maintain your independence as long as possible.