Foreheads Furrowed

‘Don’t write unless you have something to say’. Here it is: the ruddy cheeked bouncer standing at the gates of literature; the steely eyed sentence passed down by every amateur judge that there ever was. Advice, they call it, their foreheads furrowed as deep as the farmer’s new field. Give them five minutes and they’ll be at it again; their fingers stroking their stony chins; counsel dispensed at the rate of forty clichés an hour. ‘Better say nothing than say something stupid’. Another pearl. You slip it into your handbag, as if it were a tissue. For there’s nothing like empty advice to console you in your darkest hour.

From Michael Rosinith’s review of certain Swedish and Danish novels…


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