Today I am having a snow day, and swanning about with the perfect disaffected beach read, The Interrogation, the Nouvelle Vague-ish, Salinger-esque debut novel by 2008 Nobel Prize Winner J.M.G. Le Clezio (it reminds me of Rudolph Wurlitzer's Nog). If I ever started a fashion line or opened a shop, the styling would be based entirely on a 1970s guide to Bali I bought for a quarter somewhere and various existentialist novels of the 1960s. I love this passage:
"He tried to meet the young woman's eyes but it was no use: she was wearing the kind of very dark sun-glasses, with thick lenses and frames, that are a specialty of tourists from New York at Portuguese seaside resorts. He was too shy to ask her to take them off, though he felt what a relief it would be to see her eyes... The young woman suddenly drew up her legs, a little slanting, with her head and shoulders raised just above the ground, sighed voluptuously and sent her fingers groping along her spine, brushing over the white mark on her tanned skin, as she refastened the strap of her bikini. She paused for a moment in this position, a captive figure, arms crossed behind her back, making hollows below the shoulder-blades, as though indicating to some matador the chink in her armour, the point where the sword can be thrust through to the heart."
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