Because homeland is one of the magical fantasy words like unicorn and soul that have now passed into the language.
Smith, Zadie. White Teeth, p. 332.
It would be interesting to write an academic history of cultural studies (for example) through an analysis of letters of rejection.
Lawrence Grossberg. “Introduction: ‘Birmingham’ in America?” Bringing It All Back Home: Essays on Cultural Studies. Duke: Duke UP, 1997. 29.
Sir Edmund, who was a fairly corpulent man, a man who looked liked he might be hiding another man within him, practically skipped all the way home.
Smith, Zadie. White Teeth, p. 253.
For years I wore the well-fed look of a prize boar.
Coetzee, J.M. Waiting for the Barbarians, p. 44.
All birds are perhaps a little wrong, because an absolute once-and-for-all formula for a bird has never been found, just as all novels are bad because the correct formula for a novel has never been found.
Laxness, Halldór. Under the Glacier, p. 15.
Cynicism is our shared common language, the Esperanto that actually caught on, and though I’m not fluent in it—I like too many things, and I am not envious of enough people—I know enough to get by.
Hornby, Nick. How to Be Good, p. 163.
My own hands like monster crabs.
Díaz, Junot. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, p. 198.
Pale Fire, in other words, is a text of absolute epistemological uncertainty: we know that something is happening here but we don’t know what it is, as Bob Dylan said of Mister Jones.
McHale, Brian. Postmodernist Fiction, p. 18.
He was reading Euripides, and all around him a world of white and black was eating fried food.
Wolfe, Thomas. Look Homeward, Angel, p. 423.
Suddenly, he saw that his life had been channelled by a series of accidents: a mad Rebel singing of Armageddon, the sound of a bugle on the road, the mule-hoofs of the army, the silly white face of an angel in a dusty shop, a slut’s pert wiggle of her hams as she passed by.
Wolfe, Thomas. Look Homeward, Angel, p. 6.
