Mohsin Hamid

But it does mean that the idea of self in the land of self-help is a slippery one.

Slippery can provide access to what would chafe if entered dry.

Then again, maybe she does. Maybe she fears it.

Possibly he exits the compound and makes his way to the ridge behind which he prefers to defecate, squatting low and squeezing forcefully to expel the contents of his colon. Possibly he is alone, or possibly he is not.

He sees the labor by which a farmer exchanges his allocation of time in this world for an allocation of time in this world.

Textbooks, those whores, are particularly explicit in acknowledging this, and it is with a textbook that you, at this moment, after several years in the city, are walking down the street.

Parts of his mind not responsible for control over the tissue and bone of his vocal apparatus wander far, far away.

I inhaled and shut my eyes. There was a mental state I used to attain when I was playing soccer: my self would disappear, and I would be free, free of doubts and limits, free to focus on nothing but the game. When I entered this state I felt unstoppable. Sufi mystics and Zen masters would, I suspect, understand the feeling. Possibly, ancient warriors did something similar before they went into battle, ritualistically accepting their impending death so they could function unencumbered by fear.

more a novella than a novel,”

“It leaves space for your thoughts to echo.”